Moonlit Escape
by Firisu
Summary: AU. It's said that high school romances are fleeting and fickle, unable to last a lifetime. However, theirs is no ordinary high school romance, as they will come to learn after undergoing the many obstacles and challenges thrown their way. IchiRuki.
1. One Night

**A/N: I hope everyone had a happy Holloween. Sorry for being so inactive this past month; I got completely obsessed with **_**Fade To Black**_** and fanfiction kinda went down my priority list. I have now seen that movie a total of forty times—and counting: thirteen times that first week and then at least once a day ever since. No joke.**

**Just so you know, the majority of this chapter was written between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. It was later typed up and edited during those hours, too, because every time I try reading, writing or even thinking about this story during the daytime, I find so many things wrong with it—things I don't notice when I'm on the brink of exhaustion.**

**Word of warning: there is a lemon towards the end of this chapter. I'm hoping it turned out okay.**

* * *

_**Preface**_

"Did we really have to come here tonight?"

"Nope." With a smirk, Ichigo switches off the engine and walks around the trunk of the car to the passenger door. He opens it and smiles down at the occupant pouting inside.

"I can get out on my own," the girl retorts. Nevertheless, she takes the hand that he offers and steps out into the moonlight. Her dress swishes in the light breeze and the fabric brushes smoothly against her legs. His smile softens.

"I know, but we are trying to be conventional tonight, remember?"

She rolls her eyes, a sigh accompanying the motion. "Very well. Let's go, then."

Ichigo, clad in the black tuxedo that will probably never leave his closet again, gladly takes his cue and begins leading her by the hand towards the hall that's already teeming with music and lights and excitement. They arrive shortly at the entrance, standing just before the threshold that separates the natural beauty of the school's courtyard to the artificial exhilaration of the party taking place inside.

He looks to her, and she asks, "What's wrong? Aren't we going in?"

"Yeah," he says, "but there's something I want to do first."

Before she even has a chance to ask, he leans down just enough to press his lips softly against hers in a gentle caress.

"That's not the way you normally kiss me," she half-states, half-complains, after he's done.

"Well, it's the way a normal couple would kiss—in public, at least."

She pouts. "Who came up with this idea of us trying to be normal?"

"You did." He laughs. She attempts a glare but he reminds her, "None of that tonight. We're trying for one outing without some kind of incident." He smiles again, causing his eyes to smoulder—he knows she can't resist him like that. And so, she sighs, defeated.

"Fine—I get it." She's about to take a step forward, ready to prove—both to herself and to everyone else—that they are capable of keeping trouble at bay for one night, when Ichigo pulls on her hand and turns her to face him.

He runs his thumb along her cheekbone and leans in again, this time much slower, concentrated. She can tell he's about to kiss her again, but before he does, he says something that stuns her into submission.

"I love you, Rukia."

And she is surprised, because as far as she knows, that's the first time he's ever said those words to her in the whole twelve months—twelve months minus the countless weeks' worth of bumps along the road—they've been together.

Before her mind has finished processing that fact, however, she feels the full force of his mouth on hers, devouring and greedy—the typical way in which their lips meet. She is tempted to scold him—just as he did her—for slipping into their usual habits, but she reconsiders—because she knows she can't bring herself to blame him. After all, dysfunctional is all they've known since that one fateful night, exactly a year ago from now…

* * *

**Moonlit Escape  
**_**Chapter 1: One Night**_

Ichigo Kurosaki has always hated school dances. However, on that particular day, his brother was away at his first year of college and his dad was working the night shift at the hospital. And, as lame as it sounds, he didn't feel like being alone in the house that night.

But, as he tapped the foot of his shoe—again and again—against the floor of the remodelled school gym, he really wished he'd opted for a night in instead, watching a movie or even getting ahead on his maths homework—anything but this. He couldn't see the appeal that other—_'normal'_—people seemed to find in these social functions.

Half an hour into the night, he decided to try out some of the punch that had no doubt already been tainted with alcohol by that point, hoping it'd make things at least _seem_ a little more interesting. It didn't, really. It did, however, make him feel a little lightheaded—high—and he deemed it best to stop halfway through his second glass—he did have to drive home, after all.

"That's it—I'm outta here," he eventually grumbled to himself. He had begun scanning the interior of the hall, searching for the exit, when he was held back a few moments more by a nuisance he hadn't hoped to encounter that night.

"Umm… Ichigo?" a timid female voice mumbled from behind him. He turned lazily to see Orihime Inoue standing there, her hands fumbling with the fabric of her long, white dress as she looked down to avoid his gaze. He mentally rolled his eyes; this girl had a real talent of beating around the bush.

She continued, unaware of—or not willing to acknowledge—his speculation. "I was wondering if… maybe… I could… have this dance?" She nervously held out her hand, desperately hoping he'd take it.

He didn't. "Sorry, Orihime," he said, already shifting his feet in the direction of the double doors at the entrance—his one way out. "I have to go. Maybe some other time," he lied.

He promptly turned on his heel and began taking quick strides towards the main exit, leaving no chance for the bashful girl to speak. He thought he had heard the beginnings of a sob rise from her throat, and he felt just the slightest bit guilty. When he later took a brief glance behind himself, however, he saw a lean man with jet-black hair wiping away her tears with his long, pale fingers.

Ichigo internally sighed in relief.

* * *

It was a nice night outside. The moon was high and the air was cool, crisp, like heaven against one's skin. Ichigo, however, didn't stop to notice these things; he just wanted to get home as soon as humanly possible.

He rounded the parking lot and found his car just where he'd left it, under the shade of a large oak tree in between many other vehicles for which he didn't give a second glance to. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and was about to unlock the front door of his car, when something compelled him to a halt. At that moment, the full, shining moon had moved its way from behind the cover of tree leaves and branches, bestowing its radiant luminance upon the car parked next to his.

There was a girl sitting there on the trunk, her dainty head propped up on her knees with her arms securely wrapped around her legs. She was wearing a simple yet striking crimson-red dress that exposed the pale skin of her shoulders and cut off just below the thigh. She was staring straight ahead, not really _seeing_ anything, with a melancholic look on her face. The sight made him think twice about leaving the dance quite so early.

He didn't even know the girl. Sure, they were in the same school and year level, but she wasn't especially popular or social, nor had she ever been in his class. So why did he suddenly feel such a riveting fascination towards her?

Perhaps it was the liquor—he hadn't had much experience with drinking before, so he couldn't be sure—but something was compelling him to stay and make her acknowledge him. And so, without thinking, he blurted out, "You look beautiful."

Under the shine of moonlight, he noticed her blush profusely before turning to face him with an expression between apprehension and embarrassment. After staying silent for a moment too long, she mumbled, "Uh, thanks," and then turned back to face the night sky once more.

Ichigo walked around his car to the one he presumed belonged to her. "May I join you?" he asked, cool but friendly.

She unbound her legs, stretching them out, and leaned back against the windshield of the sleek, black car. She shifted over a little, making room for company, and patted the vacant space invitingly. "Be my guest," she said.

He climbed up next to her on the solid metal frame. For a moment there, he thought the car was going to collapse under the burden of his weight, but the quivering movements soon came to a standstill and he allowed himself to relax, unconsciously imitating the girl's stance as his broad shoulders came to rest against the thick glass screen behind him.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said out of the blue, and she turned to him, perplexed.

He started again, holding out a hand and clearing his throat. "The name's Ichigo Kurosaki. Nice to meet you."

Comprehension replaced the confusion on her face as she took his hand and shook it, her grip much firmer than he had expected of a girl with her stature. "Rukia Kuchiki," she replied. "It's an honour."

They both gave the other an inconspicuous once-over before leaning back into their former positions and letting the peaceful silence and serenity seep back into the atmosphere. It was like that for a little while, both of them wishing for something—though they didn't know what exactly—to happen but neither wishing to break the tranquillity.

Rukia was the one who had the guts to speak first. "So," she said suddenly, catching him off-guard, "what brings you here to my neck of the woods?"

He almost smiled. "Dances and parties aren't really my thing," he answered.

"Funny, that. So why are you here in the first place?"

"Why are _you_?"

"I was invited," she said, "by a friend."

He raised a brow at the word _friend_. "A date?" he questioned, feeling somewhat jealous for reasons he couldn't yet place.

She replied as honestly as she could. "I guess you could say that. His name's Renji. Great guy."

"And you love him?"

She shrugged. "He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, but it's so hard to figure out whether he wants us to be any more than that."

"So why isn't he here with you now?"

Once again, she shrugged as if she didn't care. "Last I heard, he's playing drinking games with some idiot friends of his. And trust me; you do not want to be in the same room as him when he's drunk. It's not a pretty sight."

"He asked you to wait here for him?"

She shook her head. "I don't think he even noticed me leave. I would probably have gone home by now, too, if not for the fact that he is my ride home." She let out a small laugh, mostly at herself. "How unfortunate, right? By the time he gets back, it'll be lucky if he can still stand upright on his own, let alone drive a mile without completely totalling the car while he's at it."

All of a sudden, Ichigo had hopped off the trunk and was pulling Rukia along with him to his car. "Hey, what are you doing?!" she fumed, her slender wrist tightly in his grasp.

He forced her into the passenger seat as he positioned himself behind the wheel. He hurriedly secured the seat belt around her struggling form, locked all the doors, and started up the engine.

"Are you insane?! What in the world do you think you're doing?!" She freed her hands and reached for the clasp at the end of the flexible strap.

"Shut up," Ichigo replied, catching Rukia's wrist in one hand while the other stayed on the wheel. He was backing out of his parking spot, preparing to leave the school for the second time that day. "I'm not letting that Renji—whoever he is—drive you home if he's drunk. I wouldn't want you damaging your pretty little face in a car accident now," he said. She could tell by his tone that he was being serious, which is what made her turn away and blush.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes. Ichigo returned both hands to the wheel once he trusted that Rukia wouldn't struggle again. They were on the main road by then, anyway—what was she going to do? Jump out?

"Where are you taking me?" she asked eventually, a little sceptical.

In all honesty, he hadn't thought that far ahead. This little escapade had purely been a spur-of-the-moment decision, after all. So, he continued on that bout of spontaneity, knowing but not caring about what his actions could bring.

"I'm taking you to dinner," he answered. It had been the first thing to come to mind.

Not two minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot of a humble neighbourhood diner. It wasn't particularly packed, though it still attracted a fair amount of business. Ichigo and Rukia walked inside silently side-by-side.

The interior was bright and tidy. Chatter was kept to a low hum of voices and the tables were neatly spaced apart to allow for some degree of privacy in the quaint little shop. "Welcome," a young, smiling waitress greeted the pair at the door. "A table for two?"

They both nodded, and before they knew it, they were being escorted to a regular square table in the far corner of the room, beside the wall-sized glass window that looked out onto the busy road outside.

"Here are your menus. I'll be back to take down your order in a minute." The waitress bowed and turned to leave the two to their exchange.

"Order whatever you like," said Ichigo. "I'm buying."

"In that case," Rukia began impishly, "I'll take everything here on the menu."

"Suit yourself."

Her expression dropped. "I wasn't being serious."

"Good. Neither was I." He folded up his menu, placing it back down on the table, and leaned back in his seat. "I just figured since you're so small that it wouldn't cost much to feed you, anyway."

She decided to let that comment slide, though the words _since you're so small_ were still replaying themselves in her head like a broken record. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He briefly directed his gaze in her direction, before returning his focus to the lights splayed across the ceiling. "It's much more fun to spend the night with company, don't you think?" he said.

"But why me?" she questioned, a little suspicion seeping into her tone. "I mean, you don't even know me."

"Well, maybe I'd like to know you." He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the tabletop, ready to listen to anything she had to offer. "So, what don't I know about you?"

_Everything,_ she wanted to say. But instead, she found herself really speaking to him and answering his questions from the heart. She was baring her soul to this strange boy whom she'd never spoken more than three words to before that night. Looking back on it, it's funny how these things just seem to happen and take on a momentum of their own.

* * *

The ride home was considerably more comfortable than the ride from the dance. It was a little hard for either of them to get their head around, but over that past hour or so—they'd easily lost track of the time—they had broken past the barrier of being virtually strangers and crossed over into friends—perhaps more. Naturally, there was still a lot they had yet to learn about the other, but they were working on it so that not a minute they spent together was wasted.

"So your mother passed away eight years ago…" Rukia said, looking down at her knees. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago. And besides," he said, "there's no shame in dying."

She nodded. "I see."

"Anyway," he diverted, "what about you? What's your family like?"

She seemed a little reluctant to answer. "Well, my brother and I—" She stopped suddenly. And then, "Oh, shit. My brother."

She didn't continue, which prompted Ichigo to raise a very perplexed brow and ask, "What's wrong?"

She lightly slapped herself on the forehead. "How could I forget?" She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Ichigo. "He specifically told me to be home by ten o'clock. Oh, he's going to kill me; I just know it."

As Rukia continued with her self-ramblings of dread and horror, another impulsively thought-out plan formed in Ichigo's head. He smirked at the idea.

"Hey, Ichigo," Rukia said to him. "You're going to have to get me home—_now_. It's just near the—"

"There's no need," he interrupted matter-of-factly. Rukia blinked, a little stunned, not sure if she should be confused or angry. She went with both.

"What the hell are you saying, idiot?! Are you _trying _to get me into trouble?! Do you _know_ what my brother's like?! He told me to be back by ten and if I'm not—"

"Quit your bellyaching," he said offhandedly. "It's giving me a headache."

"Why you…" she all but growled. "Take me home this instant!"

"Did he say which _day_ you needed to be home?"

She paused, a look of puzzlement etched on her face. "What?"

"Your brother," he clarified, "you said he told you to be home by ten, but did he specifically say _tonight_ at ten?"

This threw her off a little. Finally, she mumbled, "I think those kinds of things are self-implied."

"_Implied_," he emphasised, "not set in stone. So, technically, that means it wouldn't be breaking curfew if you spend the night at my place and just go back tomorrow."

The sudden proposition—and the casualness of his delivery—was yet another surprise for Rukia to take in. She looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. "My brother's going to kill me."

Strangely enough, it didn't sound like a rebuttal, but more a resignation—an acceptance.

"So it's okay with you?" He was astounded by the ease with which she agreed to the notion; she didn't seem like one to break the rules quite so willingly.

"So long as we have one thing straight," she said.

"And what might that be?"

"If my brother asks, you kidnapped me. Got that?"

He laughed at her one lone stipulation. "Aye, aye," he agreed heartily. He briefly imagined what it would be like to actually kidnap this girl. Funnily enough, it wasn't the ransom that seemed like the most appealing aspect of the deal; it was the thought of making her belong to him—only him and no one else—forever.

* * *

The house was dark and empty when they arrived. Ichigo's dad wouldn't be arriving home until morning, so they had it all to themselves.

"Drink?" Ichigo offered as he led Rukia into the kitchen.

"What do you have?"

He held the fridge door open for her as she peered in to see row on row of wine and liquor. "Take your pick."

She raised a very cynical eyebrow. "Is there something I should know about you?"

He shrugged. "I'm a recovering alcoholic."

"Oh, really?" The scepticism in her tone was almost tangible. He snickered playfully.

"I wish. Nah, these are just my brother's for whenever he decides to grace us with his presence again." He took out a bottle and walked over to the cabinet to retrieve a clean, translucent wineglass. "You see, he's a college student," Ichigo explained as he filled the cup halfway with clear liquor, "and he only comes home about once a month, I'd say—I've lost track."

He held the glass towards Rukia in offering but she turned it down with a polite shake of her head. He lifted the goblet to his own mouth, prepared to drink down the contents, but then, instead of taking a swig, he placed it back down onto the counter and gestured towards the stairs down the hall. "Perhaps I should show you the rest of the house first."

She grinned, sly and subtle. "Oh, please do."

* * *

Her fingers brushed along the frames atop Ichigo's dresser, and she felt the dust gather against her skin. The photos obviously hadn't been in contact with any kind of solid in a long, long time.

She picked up the first picture, using her other hand to wipe away the obscuring particles on the glass surface. It was the photo of a boy, no more than six years old, on a playground swing, smiling so wide you could see every one of his brilliant white teeth. It was rather adorable, to say the least. Rukia suddenly felt the urge to smile, too, and without even realising it, she was.

The dresser she stood at had an adjoining mirror attached to the back. The top of it went way past her head—which isn't saying much, really. It matched Ichigo's height perfectly, though, as shown when he approached her from behind, watching her studying his childhood photos in the mirror's reflection. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get that. Still, those really aren't worth looking at. I've been meaning to pack them away somewhere; just haven't found the time."

"I think they're nice," she disputed, smiling at the snapshots. "You look really cute in them, you know that?"

He couldn't help but blush; after all, it wasn't everyday that somebody actually called him _cute_. "Uh… thanks."

She put the frame down and turned to face him.

"Hmm…" she mused, staring at him intently in a scrutinising fashion. It was making him feel a little uncomfortable, but just as he was about to turn his head, she reached up and grabbed hold of both sides of his face. Then, with her right index finger, she reached for the centre of his eyebrows and attempted to undo the furrow with her fingertips.

"What are you—"

"I think you could still look cute. You just need to lose the scowl." She used the thumb of her left hand to lightly pull at the sides of his lips. "Smiling helps," she suggested with amusement, only causing his frown to deepen further. She laughed; it was just so much fun to rile him up. But then, something seemed to change—a shift in their rapport—and the air between them tightened.

Rukia's hands were still on Ichigo's face, and she suddenly didn't want to let go. She looked up to meet his gaze, wondering if he was feeling the same way.

His eyes were glassy, the ambers melting to liquid, as they continued to stare into hers, unable to look away.

"Ichigo…" There was something about the way his name rolled off her tongue; it just sounded _right_, as if it were meant to be. But there was more to it when she said it this time; it was filled with a longing that even she couldn't quite understand.

Ichigo answered her yearning plea by holding a hand against the back of her head, caressing her silky black locks, and leaning down to lessen the height difference between them. Rukia was thankful for the help as she stood up on the tip of her toes and, with her grip never leaving his face, closed the remaining distance between them, crushing her lips against his.

It was a bit awkward at first, adjusting to the sensation of moving in time with the other, but they overcame it soon enough, quickly letting themselves sink into the kiss—the first but surely not the last they shared.

After a while, Rukia ran the tip of her tongue along Ichigo's bottom lip, and as if on reflex, he parted the seals of his mouth, granting her permission to enter. She accepted the invitation with charm, slowly slipping her tongue into his orifice. Once it was inside, she controlled it with gentle initiative as it traced the inner walls of his mouth.

The taste was truly addictive. She couldn't really explain it; it didn't seem to have an apparent tang like bitter or sweet. Instead, he seemed to have a unique flavour of his very own—and she hoped she would be the only one to ever try it.

After what felt like forever but still too short, Rukia returned her tongue to her own mouth and sealed Ichigo's lips with another placid kiss before pulling back to survey the effects of their spontaneous deeds.

They shared a look—there was a new depth to their eyes that wasn't there before—and that was enough to tell the other what they were too astounded to say.

Their lips were quickly at each other's again. It wasn't clear who started it, but it was clear that neither wanted to stop it.

This kiss seemed more passionate than the first—something neither of them would have thought possible—which most likely routed from how sure they knew they wanted this now. There also seemed to be a trust forming between them that only seemed to grow stronger with each and every second they were in each other's presence.

Somewhere during the course of that second kiss, Ichigo began gradually guiding Rukia backwards, step by step, until they reached the edge of his bed. Their lips never broke apart as they both sank onto the mattress, still mostly upright, and Rukia tangled her fingers in Ichigo's shock of orange hair, pulling him ever closer, whilst his hands slowly crept their way up her thighs, around her hips to the small of her back, and finally stopped at the zipper of her dress.

Rukia's breath hitched in her throat. She pulled away just enough to look at his face, and laid a precautionary hand on his arm. "Wait," she said.

She received a perplexed look from Ichigo, which only added to the red on her cheeks as she bit her lip, nervous and more than a little embarrassed. "I… I've never… done this before," she admitted, resisting the heavy urge to turn away.

But, to her surprise, he merely smiled at her reaction and leaned in close to whisper, "Neither have I."

She found this revelation a great relief and—frankly—a bit of surprise. "Oh" was all she could manage at the time. He chuckled.

"So, I guess we're both stepping into a minefield here. You sure about this?"

Rukia didn't need more than a second to think it over; she was already adamant on her decision. "I'm sure."

"That's all I needed to hear."

As soon as those words were uttered, his mouth closed in on hers again. And, at the same time, his fingers were inexpertly pulling the zip down her back, gradually exposing more and more of her pale flesh to the cool air of his room.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was tempted to protest. It wasn't like her to make such rash decisions like this. But the words wouldn't form; the better part of her intellect knew it didn't want to put a halt to this wondrous moment. It felt all too right—too perfect—to just throw away because of petty fears of the unknown. Like Ichigo had said, they were entering a minefield here, but she figured that as long as she wasn't alone in her uncertainty, she could handle whatever came their way.

Her resolve was firm and solid as Ichigo finished with her zipper and began pulling the dress over her head, revealing the rest of her smooth, fair skin. Once that had been slipped off, he continued by removing her black, silk lingerie and tossing the fabric to the floor, leaving her bare and vulnerable.

It made her nervous, exposing herself like this. She'd never trusted anyone enough to allow them indulgence in her secret treasures before—this was a first. The anxiety made her turn away to the side as she sensed Ichigo's eyes wandering over her humble figure.

For a moment, she thought he would reject her, dismayed by the sight of her physique, but then she felt him move his hands to hold her by the waist, before dipping his head down to her left breast and taking the supple mound into his mouth. Rukia gasped, then moaned, his motions providing her with sensations she had never felt before. "Ichigo…"

He was glad she was finding pleasure in this, as it meant he was doing something right, but it was also making his jeans feel rather tight and uncomfortable around his lower regions. The forthcoming erection was excruciating to contain.

Rukia felt Ichigo halt his movements and pull away. She looked at him curiously. He answered the question in her eyes by pulling his shirt over his head and then unzipping his pants until he could slip those off, too, both garments landing carelessly on the floor beneath them. Rukia took a moment then to admire his remarkable bare chest.

It wasn't noticeable when he was wearing a shirt, but his muscles were perfectly toned and flawless. They weren't overly defined—which put Rukia at ease—yet they were strong and well-formed. It took her a few double takes to pry her eyes away from his upper body to notice that his hands were moving to the edge of his pale blue boxers. He pulled them down and they were soon on the floor with the rest of their clothing. His stiff, erect member was now free of any restraints or binds. Rukia's eyes instantly dilated to double their size.

Ichigo read the hesitation in her expression and said, "If you don't want to do this, then—"

But he was interrupted by the force of her lips against his—not that he was complaining. She lifted her legs up onto the bed, never breaking the kiss, and pulled Ichigo up to the same level in one motion. She laid herself back against the sheets, guiding him along with her, and finally removed her mouth from his. He pulled back to survey the position they were in.

Rukia lay beneath him with her legs wide open as he knelt between them with his impatient organ throbbing harder than ever in such close proximity to its target. "Well?" Rukia prompted, almost as eager as his arousal. She was already thoroughly wet from their brief foreplay and didn't think she could stand the suspense for much longer. "Do it, Ichigo. I'm sure about this; I want you to be my first."

Her words made him feel like he was walking on clouds, but also like those very same clouds could collapse and send him plummeting to his doom after one wrong move. It was a lot of pressure—what if he wasn't good enough?—but he was glad she chose to put such faith in him. He vowed to himself that he would do his best not to disappoint.

And so, he shifted a little closer, both dreading and anticipating his next move. Just as the tip of his shaft was almost at her entrance, he paused—unsure.

"Ichigo," Rukia said, "just relax. It's only going to make it harder if you're all tense like this." She reached up to brush her fingers against his cheek. "Know that I'm not asking for this to be perfect; I'm just asking for this to be real."

He didn't entirely understand what she meant by that, but her words were reassuring, and it pressed him to go on and take charge of the situation, not fear it. He took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._

He was overly cautious as the head of his member entered her taut opening, moving in slowly and ineptly. Despite the clumsiness that derived from inexperience, he had to admit the feeling was enticing. The warm tightness of Rukia's innermost walls tantalised his hard organ to proceed further and yearn to be engulfed by her on all sides.

She had expected this to hurt—a lot—but it wasn't as bad as she had imagined. Granted it was a long way from being considered smooth sailing, it wasn't as painful or as bloody as her friends had described whenever they spoke of their first times.

"Ichigo…" she moaned as she clung to his back, urging him closer—though they were already about as close as two people could possibly get.

"Rukia…" He answered her moans with his own, all the whole moving deeper inside her whilst still being mindful of her sensitivity. He became more comfortable in his rhythm after finding no sign of pain tarnishing her features, and so he began going that little bit faster, harder.

Rukia's senses were quickly being overcome by this intense sensation bubbling up inside her lower stomach. It was like nothing she had ever felt before; it was incredible yet torturous, sweet yet sour. She deduced from everything that she'd read and heard in her seventeen years that this is how you felt before reaching an orgasm. And—sure enough—she was right.

Not a minute later, she reached her peak, more than ready and willing to release this built-up tension in her core. She hadn't expected the effect to be so strong, but it was her first time experiencing it, after all, so it was bound to feel a little overwhelming. What was really unnerving, though, was that for one golden second—blinded by the moment of inexplicable pleasure—all she could see was her and Ichigo. She felt complete and fulfilled, like she wouldn't need anyone or anything else ever again. She only needed him—and that was all. She felt whole.

It seemed Ichigo's thoughts were running along the same wavelength as hers, just as he himself gave into his first ever climax and released his love, hot and thick, into her welcoming cavern. He noticed that her joints and muscles loosened even further than before when she felt him come inside her. She sighed in deep contentment, her thoughts too much of a disconcerted blur to be articulated as rational speech.

By this point, they both felt utterly wiped. Ichigo pulled himself out of her and fell limp by her side. They were both panting to catch their breath, unable to draw in air for words.

Rukia regained control over her body first. "Wow, Ichigo. That was just…" She couldn't seem to find the right response, so she closed her eyes and said, "You're amazing, Ichigo."

"You sure are something yourself," he replied, ragged breaths punctuating his assertion. And then, after calming his erratic intakes of air to a steady rhythm, he added softly, "You know what? I think I might just be falling in love with you." He turned to face her then, inadvertently hopeful.

She was asleep. Her eyes were shut serenely and her chest rose up and down in silent breaths. It was possibly the most endearing thing he had ever seen in his life. And in that moment, it didn't matter that the first girl he had gotten the nerve to confess to had been unconscious to hear his admission; it was enough that she was there—enough, and more.

At that stage, neither of them realised how this night would eventually change their lives so completely and utterly, nor did they really want to think about it. It could wait—and so could everything else—until they were ready to come back down to Earth and face the obstacles that the future had in store for them.

School, family, friends… Little did they know that their relationships with these aspects of their lives were about to take a drastic turn, some for the better and some for the worst. They wish they could say their relationship was the one constant throughout the course of the next twelve months, but they would be lying; their relationship was the thing due to change the most that following year.

It was in the middle of spring—with the flowers already in full bloom—that Rukia and Ichigo's days together began.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: I actually started writing the second chapter before even considering what happens in this one, so that's why this chapter is a bit rushed and fast-paced. Sorry about that.**

**So, I've written bits of the next few chapters but, beyond that, I have next to nothing planned for the rest of this story.  
**…  
**Well, doesn't this just sound so brilliantly thought-out?**

**Hmm, I guess the speed at which I update will be dictated by how much sleep I lose every night. So, is it worth it? Should I actually start going to bed at a reasonable hour—or should I continue staying up 'til 2 a.m. to work on this?**


	2. Two Brothers

**A/N: Sorry about the wait. It's been one hectic month, what with end-of-year exams and assessments and what not. ****And yet, I've still been staying up until at least one a.m. on every one of those nights. I guess I've made my choice: fanfiction over grades. But, I'm pretty sure I got an A for most of those exams anyway—with minimal study—so, you see, it all works out in the end.**

**This chapter—like the first—turned out much longer than I expected, which I don't exactly take as a good thing but you can decide that for yourself, I guess.**

* * *

**Moonlit Escape  
**_**Chapter 2: Two Brothers**_

Rukia dared not a breath too loud as she tiptoed into her house and, as silently as possible, relocked the door behind her. Half of her had actually expected her brother to be waiting for her by the entrance, instantly ready to scold her for staying out until such an hour, and all of her was deeply relieved he wasn't.

Without making a sound, she progressed through the carpeted lounge and up the staircase where she stopped at the junction outside her brother's bedroom and hers. She only spared his door a fleeting glance before retreating to the safety of her own quarters. She'd deal with him in the morning—or rather, he'd deal with her.

She gave a soft, petulant groan as she collapsed face-first onto her bed. She was exhausted. She would've very much preferred to stay in Ichigo's bed and never leave it—well, never leave _him_, to be exact—but she knew she had already pushed her luck far enough for one lifetime by disobeying her brother's orders and staying out until—she raised her head just enough to check the time on the digital clock atop her bedside table—four a.m. If she was missing in action for any longer than the one night, she's sure Byakuya would have called the police and ordered a search party without hesitation.

The thought of her brother made her groan again, knowing he'd have quite a lot to say and lecture her about in the morning.

_Sorry, Byakuya, _she imagined herself saying in response, _but I was kidnapped by this boy…_ _This boy, who can be quite idiotic and adorable at times… This boy, who is remarkably good in bed… This boy… who I think has stolen my heart._

With those thoughts guiding her to sleep, Rukia forgot all about what her brother would have to say on the matter and saw only one image behind her eyelids as she lapsed into slumber: Ichigo Kurosaki.

* * *

When Rukia came down for breakfast that bright Saturday morning, her brother was already there, waiting for her, naturally. "And where were you last night?" he questioned as soon as she was seated at the table with a bowl of cornflakes.

She figured her best option would be to play dumb. So she answered, "At the dance."

But playing dumb wasn't about to work with Byakuya Kuchiki. "Renji called," he stated.

Rukia felt her stomach drop, but pretended not to feel anything towards the comment as she shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

"He said he couldn't find you anywhere," Byakuya continued, keeping a close eye on his sister's face for her reaction. "He must have been pretty desperate if he had the nerve to call around here. So"—here's where his tone took on a new definition of _deadly serious_—"where _were_ you?"

Rukia was still determined to play the fool. After all, it was safer than making up some elaborate excuse of a story and messing up the details later. "Renji didn't know what he was talking about; he was drunk. I was there the whole night and then I had to drive him home because he was in no condition to do so himself." Then she added, "I doubt he'll remember that, though. His version of last night won't be the most reliable." She hoped she had all her bases covered with this one.

Byakuya still wasn't convinced. "Is that so?" he asked, eyes narrow.

"Mm-hm," she mumbled, keeping her gaze well away from his.

After another two mouthfuls, she got up from her seat and disposed of her leftovers at the sink before slipping on a light coat and heading to the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" Byakuya called from the table.

"Out," she replied as she put on her favourite pair of Converses and unlocked the front door, "for a walk. I'll be back soon," she promised. And then she was gone.

Byakuya sighed wearily from his seat. _It's starting._

"Ah, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

He had to hide his annoyance as he watched his long-time neighbour and childhood friend, Yoruichi Shihouin, casually stroll into his kitchen. "What are you doing here again?" he asked patiently.

"Hey, you're the one who gave me the key," the young woman defended.

"I was also the one who told you that key was to be used for _emergencies _only."

"This _is_ an emergency," she insisted as she walked over to the fridge—_his_ fridge. He raised a questioning brow in response.

"I'm out of milk." She opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton before turning back to grin at the silently seething man sitting at the table. "You don't mind, do you, Lil' Byakuya?"

"Get out of my house."

She chuckled. "Not in a good mood, eh?" she mused. "Any reason in particular?"

Byakuya honestly didn't know why he would ever bother confiding in her of all people. Nevertheless, he did—albeit grudgingly and with a resigned sigh. "What does it mean when your little sister has become dishonest about where she's been?"

Yoruichi's answer was almost immediate. "Oh, so our dear little Rukia has finally grown up, has she?"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"She got laid," Yoruichi stated, grinning.

Byakuya felt his eyebrows twitch. "That's it; get out."

Yoruichi snickered. "Can't face the truth, can you?"

"Out, now."

"Fine, fine," she surrendered, taking what she came for and leaving Byakuya to his own company.

"You owe me another carton of milk," he said, a little late. But Yoruichi still heard, despite having already reached the back door by now. Sometimes he really did think she had the hearing of a cat.

"Just add it to my tab," she called back to him.

* * *

"Will that be all, Miss?"

Rukia glanced down at the two items she'd laid down on the counter: the morning-after pill—_emergency contraception_, they call it now, so as not to sound so scandalous—and a pregnancy test—just to be sure. She turned back to the pharmacist and said, "Yep, that's all."

"Alright, then." The young woman punched in the numbers on the cash register, and Rukia swore she caught a judgemental glance directed her way. She rolled her eyes.

_Oh, great. Now she thinks I'm some kind of slut. _So, she added in for good measure, "Actually, there's something else, too." She turned to go grab a small box off one of the shelves and came back to add it to the assortment already on the counter. Condoms.

She flashed the pharmacist a spitefully sweet smile. _So she won't think I'll be coming back again any time soon._ It had the desired effect; the lady pursed her lips awkwardly and busied herself with adding the new addition to the receipt. Rukia gladly paid for her purchases and walked away with her plastic bag in hand, leaving behind quite the flustered check-out girl.

That little trip to the local pharmacy turned out to be the most eventful occurrence as far as Rukia's weekend went. She spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday cooped up in her room, spending some quality time with her chemistry book. It was partly because she wanted to get back into Byakuya's good books—and the best way to do that was through meticulous study and better grades—so that he wouldn't react as badly when—or if—she ever told him about her and Ichigo, but it was also partly because she had a test on it that Monday and she had a bad feeling Byakuya wouldn't be very happy with her result.

As she pondered over the differences between acids and bases, she found her thoughts straying—once again—to the one thing that had been on the forefront of her mind all weekend. She let out a sigh. She had hoped she could contact Ichigo before waiting until the school week began but then she had realised, what with all their out-of-the-blue decisions and impulsive quirks, she'd forgotten to ask for a phone number. She could've asked for an email address, too, in this day and age, but, incidentally, she hadn't done that, either. Just goes to show that neither of them had really thought this through, at all.

Rukia tapped the tip of her pen against paper, bored to death and ready for a change in both scenery and company. She thought about calling her best friend, Momo, but then she figured the girl was probably still asleep, like most other people would be at noon on a Sunday. Rukia didn't like to sleep in, actually; she found it to be a waste of time. _But it would be more enjoyable than this,_ she realised.

The thought reminded her of something else a lot more enjoyable than science homework, too, and it only involved her, Ichigo and a little chemistry to boot. She sighed, knowing she'd have to wait at least another day to find out whether she'd ever be able to experience the products of those reactants again.

* * *

Monday morning finally rolled around and Rukia was trying her best not to seem giddy or restless in front of her brother. At the breakfast table, he eyed her warily but did not say a word. She finished up quickly and said a curt goodbye so she could leave the house and escape his scrutinising gaze.

It was a twenty-minute walk for Rukia from her home to the school, and she always found it quite the pleasant trip. Even so, she still wished Byakuya would stop treating her like a child and let her have her own car already. He'd let her get a licence and practise in his, but that's as far as it'd gone. Whenever she broached the subject, he would always brush it off with something conceited like "You are not yet ready. I will entrust you with one when I feel it is time."

_Damn him… _Rukia kicked a conveniently placed Pepsi can along the sidewalk. The canister skidded across the cement but remained in her path.

_Who's he to say I'm 'not ready'? _She reached the can and kicked it again, harder. It flew out of sight.

_Geez, he makes it sound like I'm asking for permission to get married or something._ Rukia's eyes widened then glistened as her thoughts travelled down a different path that had been presented by that last thought. _Huh, married, eh? Wonder how he'd react to that. Not well, I suppose. _She laughed to herself. _But I'm sure his face would be priceless._

That idea kept her thoroughly amused and distracted all the way to school, where the first thing she did was put her bag away, hastily forcing it into her locker, and then setting out to find Ichigo. It would have helped had she known something about him to lead her to his whereabouts. Where did he spend his time between classes? What did he do during lunch? Who were his friends that he hung out with?

After rummaging through her memory bank for a minute, Rukia figured she had an inkling as to the answer to that last question, though it wasn't much of a lead without the first. But she soon had a plan to remedy that—with the help of one Orihime Inoue.

One thing she had known about Ichigo Kurosaki before Friday night was that he was the apple of Orihime's eye. She'd known that ever since seventh grade—everyone had. Knowing that now, however, after the events of their night together, made Rukia feel quite smug, if she was being honest with herself. It wasn't that she had anything against Orihime personally—she hardly ever talked to the girl, despite being in the same class since entering high school—but she had always thought the girl seemed a little too clingy and ditzy for one such as Ichigo Kurosaki, granted she had known next to nothing about him back then.

She knew if she wanted Orihime's help, she couldn't let it slip that she and Ichigo were now somewhat of an item. So she thought up a false explanation just in case and arranged her features into a casual smile, ready to put on a show. But, as she walked into her homeroom to find Orihime sitting in her usual seat by the window, she noticed something was a little off about the redhead. The busty girl didn't have that same glint in her eyes that always spoke of _How will I get Ichigo to notice me today?_ Instead, she was perfectly composed and chatting away lightly with the boy standing before her desk—Ulquiorra Cifer—who, for the most part, just nodded mutely and muttered his agreement when called upon. Nevertheless, he seemed to be paying rapt attention to whatever it was that she was so animatedly trying to recount.

Rukia could say she was more than a little surprised. Orihime and Ulquiorra didn't seem like two people to ever strike up a conversation with each other, let alone a relationship of any sort. So she approached them warily, unsure of what to make of this new development. "Orihime," she greeted, faking sweet to the girl.

"Ah, good morning, Rukia," the girl answered back, just as wholesome.

"May I ask you something?" Rukia noticed then, out of the corner of her eye, that Ulquiorra's expression had shifted just slightly—out of curiosity, she assumed—so she added, "In private?"

Orihime hesitated, but soon followed Rukia out of the classroom and into a fairly empty part of the hallway. "What did you want to ask?" she enquired, eager to return to her former business, it seemed.

Rukia breathed in, knowing her question would no doubt arouse scepticism in the girl before her. "Do you happen to know where one would find Ichigo Kurosaki at this time of day?" She asked it as a question, but it was more a request than anything; she was already certain Orihime knew the answer.

Orihime knew that, too—the girl may have been naïve but she wasn't blind—though that didn't make it any less embarrassing. It was pretty much admitting out loud that she was stalking the boy. She tried hard to hide that, though, as she answered Rukia with a smile. "Well, I _think_"—she added that bit in for good measure, veiling the fact this wasn't an estimate at all—"he'd be on the roof. He usually hangs around there unless he's late—which only happens about once every three weeks—and then leaves for class at 8:13, usually. But hey, that's just a guess; you don't have to take my word for it." She laughed to alleviate her discomfort and said, "Sorry, Rukia, but there's some homework I need Ulquiorra's help with and I should get it done before he has to go to class. I'll see you around, okay?"

She waved her goodbye and was back in the classroom in an instant. Rukia didn't mind; she had gotten the information she needed and the informant had conveniently dismissed herself after her usefulness had expired. She smiled at how smoothly things were going.

Without wasting any time, Rukia headed for the stairs that would take her up to the seldom used school roof. She'd never seen it before in person; she'd never had a reason to.

The first thing she did was call out, "Ichigo?" She then proceeded to do a round of the entire roof but came up empty. He wasn't there. _That's odd,_ she thought. _Orihime couldn't have been wrong, could she? I know there are a lot of things you shouldn't trust her to know but this one should be right up her alley._

Puzzled and disappointed, Rukia retraced her steps back into the main building. She was on her way to gather her books for class when something a little peculiar happened.

The halls were crowded as they always were, but among the many faces that surrounded her path to her locker was that of Hiyori Sarugaki, known to be a real vicious bitch, who seemed to be eyeing her with what seemed like disapproval or… condescension? Rukia instinctively looked away. She wasn't actually sure the blonde had been staring at her—there were many people around them in the crowd—but by the time she was curious enough to check, she was already at her locker and Hiyori was out of sight, though definitely not out of mind.

With a small sigh of frustration, Rukia undid her lock and pulled open the metal door. She was checking her timetable and sorting out the right books for morning classes when she heard some interesting whispers from her right. She assumed whoever was speaking was unaware she was within earshot.

"Hey, I just heard something interesting."

"Really? Tell, tell."

"Well, you know Rukia Kuchiki? Yeah, well, she—"

Rukia had grabbed what she needed and slammed the door of her locker shut, turning her head to the side to see who was talking about her behind her back. The gossiping immediately ceased as the two girls realised the subject of their discussion was standing five feet away from them. They began to walk away, trying for inconspicuousness but not fooling Rukia for a second.

Rukia wondered what people could possibly find about her to start whispers about. Sure, she was a bit strange and a bit of an outsider, but she didn't think she'd ever done anything worthy of being turned into gossip. She gave a sigh of resignation and began heading to homeroom, realising now that her ponderings and speculation had almost made her late for class. _Oh well,_ she thought as she went. _Let them snicker and giggle all they want. Forget about them and it won't even matter._

That was her train of thought all the way into the classroom and through morning announcements as she sat distantly in her seat, failing to believe in her own mantra. _It shouldn't matter—it doesn't, _she told herself. Then she sighed. _So why can't I stop thinking about it? Damn it. What's wrong with me?_

The rest of Rukia's morning passed in a haze of confusion and tension as she racked her brains trying to figure out the root of her sudden infamy. Funnily enough, in the midst of it all, she had forgotten all about one very important factor: Ichigo Kurosaki.

* * *

"Rukia!" Momo Hinamori waved from the middle of the yard. She and a few other friends—including Renji—were just settling down to eat their lunch. Rukia smiled as her eyes found them and walked over to sit by her best friend on the crisp patch of grass.

"Hey, Momo," she greeted. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much…" The timid dark-haired girl pursed her lips and looked away, and Rukia instantly sensed that something was wrong.

"What is it?" Rukia sighed.

Momo turned her gaze, cautious and uneasy, back to her friend. "Well," she said, "I was just wondering… is it true?"

"Is _what_ true?" Rukia asked carefully.

Momo's reply was barely above a whisper. "That you… slept with Ichigo Kurosaki."

And then, everything suddenly made sense. Rukia thought back to all those girls who had been whispering rumours behind her back and giving her sharp, criticising looks. Then she looked to Renji, who seemed to be purposely avoiding her by sitting against a tree a fair distance away. He was sulking, she realised. And it had all been because of Ichigo's big, fat mouth.

Rukia was torn between feeling completely humiliated and wanting to murder Ichigo in the most painful way possible. She decided to keep her cool for the moment and figure it out later. "Where did you hear that, Momo?" she asked, attempting to sound light-hearted and hoping not to hear the answer she expected.

Momo obviously didn't like being the one to deliver the news to Rukia. "I can't remember who exactly… but it's all over the school; everyone's been talking about it."

Rukia didn't know what to say to that. _Great. Just fucking fantastic._

* * *

Rukia doesn't know how she managed to get through the rest of her classes without throwing a fit but, nevertheless, she did. She wasn't quite sure if it was better now that she knew what everyone was whispering about or if it had just made it harder.

After school, Rukia was itching to storm straight to Ichigo's house, determined to set him straight by any means necessary, before she realised she didn't know how to get there on foot. She could vaguely remember the turns Ichigo had taken when he'd driven her to his house from the school so she hitched a ride from a taxi and crossed her fingers.

Luckily for her, she recognised the surrounding roads once they were nearing the house, so she asked the driver to pull over and paid him the fare in full before hopping out and travelling the rest of the way on foot. She wasn't sure if she was anticipating or dreading the reunion but, either way, she was all but running the whole time.

Once she reached the front door, she ignored the doorbell completely and went straight to banging her fists against the wooden obstruction separating her from her revenge. "Come out, Kurosaki!" she called in a loud, clear voice. "I know you're in there!"

The door opened.

Rukia was prepared to grab the bastard by his shirt collar and demand for an explanation—until she realised the face looking down at her didn't belong to the orange-haired boy she was so infuriated with. Well, the face was quite similar, actually. But the eyes and hair were a dead giveaway.

"Where's Ichigo?" she asked, quite rudely, forgetting all she'd ever been taught about proper manners and etiquette. The man standing before her did not take well to that.

He reached down to seize her small head in his palm and bent down to look her in the eye. He could be quite intimidating when he wanted to, Rukia noted. "Just what kind of way is that to talk to someone you just met?" he reproached. "This is my house, after all, and I run the shots around here. Got that, little brat?"

Rukia was stunned for a moment, before taking the man's hand off her head and mumbling, "Sorry. I was looking for someone, but I guess they're not here." She turned to head back home but was stopped by the man's voice.

"You came here to see Ichigo, right?"

She stopped but didn't turn around. "Perhaps," she allowed.

She heard him step to the side and open the door entirely. "The name's Kaien. Come and wait inside."

She turned around then to see the spitting image of Ichigo smiling kindly back at her.

She couldn't refuse.

* * *

"Here," Kaien said as he set two glasses of water down on the translucent coffee table before them.

"Thanks." Rukia took her cup and gulped down a mouthful. It was only then that she realised just how thirsty she was. Fuming all the way there from the school must've taken more out of her than she'd thought. "So, where's Ichigo?" she asked conversationally, keeping the spite and malice out of her tone for now.

"They were low on hands at the hospital," Kaien explained between taking sips from his own glass, "so the old man thought it'd be a good chance for Ichigo to get a little work experience."

"I see. Do you know when he'll be back?"

Kaien thought about it for a moment. "Shouldn't be too much longer; early evening at the latest, I'd assume."

Rukia wondered if it would be worth waiting that long and then possibly upsetting Byakuya's precious curfew once again. She figured she could spare a few hours at least. Besides, she needed to sort this out and clear her head or else Byakuya would definitely notice something different about her once he arrived home.

"So what's he done this time?"

She looked back to Kaien, uncomprehending. "You seemed pretty mad before," he clarified. "Must've been a reason, and I think it's pretty safe to say Ichigo's the one behind it, what with the way you all but knocked down the front door to get to him."

She blushed then, embarrassed upon realising just how livid she must have seemed before, fuelled by pure rage and thoughts of vengeance. "Yeah, something did happen," she said, "but I think I should talk to Ichigo about it first."

Kaien nodded. "Of course; that sounds like a good idea. It's none of my business, anyhow."

She decided then to direct the conversation to a lighter affair. "So, Ichigo told me you're in college."

Kaien's eyes seemed to brighten at the thought. "Yeah, been there for about six months now and there's no doubt in my mind that it's the best choice I've ever made. I think Ichigo wishes I was around more—though he'd never admit it—but, honestly, I can't help it. I mean, my family means the world to me, of course, but there's just something about the air in that place… It really feels like where I belong, you know?"

She smiled and nodded, happy that someone could speak with such refined certainty of where they stand, though—honestly—she didn't know how it felt. She'd never come across a place where she truly felt like she just _belonged_. It wasn't something she'd ever really thought about before but now that the idea had been broached to her, she found it quite sad, not knowing where she truly felt at home.

"Anyway," he continued, oblivious to her musings, "I really do need to come visit more often. It seems Ichigo's been growing up quite a bit in my absence. I guess he realises he's going to have to be the man around the house now—'cause we both know our old man isn't cut out for the job." He chuckled. "But really, I do wonder how he does it. I mean, just this weekend when I came back, he almost seemed like a different person from when I saw him last. It's not something I can quite put my finger on; it's the little things. You know what I mean?"

She nodded again—though, again, she didn't honestly relate to what he was saying. She was just being polite.

She heard him heave a tiresome sigh then, and looked up to meet his gaze. "Okay, so you don't want to tell me what's wrong," he said. "I get that, but don't go acting like everything's perfectly fine, either. I don't like to see people bottling up their emotions like that; it's not good for your health. Tell me what I can do to help. You can even, uh, go trash Ichigo's room if you like," he offered good-naturedly. "Seems like he deserves it, whatever he's done."

It was certainly an appealing prospect. "He's such an idiot," Rukia muttered, tired and bitter. "I hate him." _I hate the fact I still want him._ She shook her head. "I hate him," she said again.

But she realised, the more she said that, the more she thought of him—and the more she wanted him. She wished she could wish away the inexplicable longing but she couldn't. She turned to Kaien then and said, "You know what? I don't want to talk about him; I don't want to think about him. Take me somewhere where I can forget about Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Is it really that bad, huh?" Kaien was trying to understand her feelings without coaxing the story out of her, but it was hard. Like any human being, he was curious.

_Hmm… is it?_ Rukia thought about his question for a minute.

_Yes, it is,_ a voice in her head told her. _He betrayed your trust. He made a fool out of you._

_Yeah… I guess he did…_

"Hey, hey, don't cry." Kaien's awkwardly gentle voice blurred away the scathing one in her mind. She dabbed at her eyes, unaware that she'd even started tearing up.

"Sorry," she said, wiping away the drops and blinking back any fresh ones.

"Don't apologise." He pulled her into a loose, comforting embrace—he'd never been one to fret over the boundaries of personal space—and whispered, "I can help you forget."

She looked up, her eyes questioning what exactly he meant by those words, and he took the opportunity to lean down and deliver one breathtaking kiss to her beautifully stunned lips.

She knew it was wrong—she could feel it—but there was something about it that made her want it to go on. Then she realised—it was because she wanted to get back at Ichigo; she wanted to hurt him, like he did her, and, in the heat of the moment, this seemed like the best way to do it.

She pulled Kaien's face closer, telling him without words that she wanted more. He was a little averse to taking it any further but didn't attempt to stop her. Soon, he let his impulses take over, responding to Rukia's fervour with his own. And then, before they knew it, they were in his room and under the covers of his king-sized bed. Moments later, he was pounding into her and she was urging him on, neither one thinking quite clearly enough about the implications of their actions.

She did her best to contain her moans as he pumped into her, getting in deeper and harder with each thrust, until her body was almost at its peak. By then, she was in such a state of unintelligible jubilance that she soon felt the force of her impending climax and unthinkingly screamed out, "Ichigo!" as she came.

Not a second later, though her senses were still in overdrive, she realised her mistake. She looked up at Kaien's face and saw a somewhat pained and twisted smile, though it was one of understanding and acceptance. She opened her mouth to offer an apology but was stopped by the opening of the bedroom door. Kaien instinctively shifted their positions until they both lay on their sides, still melded as one, so that they could both turn to see the new addition to their party.

Subsequently, Rukia forgot all about that little mistake she'd just made concerning the substitution of names; she was faced with a much more mortifying predicament as she stared into the face of the one person she wished to see the _least _in that very moment. "Ichigo…"

The boy was as still as a statue as his eyes worked to focus on the scene before him. They widened, then blinked, as if they could convince themselves what they were seeing was merely an illusion that would simply disappear in the right light. When he finally realised what he was seeing was entirely real and happening, he was shocked—and furious. "What the fuck's going on here?"

Neither Rukia nor Kaien moved a muscle. "Well?" he prompted, impatient and very, _very_ mad.

"Look, Bro," Kaien said, trying to sound reassuring. "This… is nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Ichigo grumbled. His gaze then travelled to the sheets where the two bodies were still joined in the centre, a clear giveaway of what Ichigo had already obviously suspected. He turned his sharp glare on his brother. "Get out of her, _now_."

Kaien did as he was told. He pulled himself out of Rukia, and they both had to suppress the discontent they felt as they broke apart.

"Now," said Ichigo, "would you care to explain what you're doing to my girlfriend?"

Kaien held up his hands, palms flat open in defence. "Okay, I know you're mad, but—trust me—I was just trying to help."

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Kaien shook his head sadly. "I don't know what you've done but it sure seems like something you should talk over with her," he said, gesturing towards a very stunned and flustered Rukia.

Ichigo furrowed his brows, his anger evaporating momentarily to make room for confusion. "Huh?"

Rukia picked up her courage then and decided to step in, more annoyed at Ichigo for avoiding the subject than embarrassed at being caught in such a position. "Don't act like you don't know," she told him, the usual edge to her tone noticeably sharper. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? The whole _school_ knew about it, Ichigo. Honestly, what kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"I don't understand, Rukia," he replied, thoroughly confused and frustrated by the lack of enlightenment he was receiving. "What did the school know and how does it have anything to do with me?"

Rukia sighed impatiently, then turned to Kaien and said, "Could you please give us a moment? Your brother and I need to have a talk," she explained, turning her gaze at the last second to glare at the aforementioned teen still standing in the doorway.

"Sure thing," Kaien answered. He reached down to grab his boxers off the floor, slipped them on and hopped out of the bed, making his way towards the door. Ichigo grudgingly stepped aside for him to pass through. As he did, he mumbled, "Sorry, Bro," just loud enough for Ichigo to hear before continuing down the hall and out of sight.

Ichigo made a gagging sound in the back of his throat as he closed the bedroom door behind himself and approached Rukia sitting atop the bed. "Like that would really make me feel any better," he muttered under his breath.

Rukia suddenly leaned forward and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, causing the sheets wrapped around her to slide down her front and reveal her small, subtle breasts. Ichigo couldn't help but blush—sure, he'd already gotten quite well-acquainted with them but that was hardly the point.

Rukia took no notice of Ichigo's embarrassment; there was only one thing on her mind. "Why did you do it?" she growled, impatient for answers.

"Do _what_?"

"Tell the whole school that we had sex together!"

"Huh? Why the hell would I do that?!" Ichigo snapped, genuinely frustrated. "Look, have you even considered the possibility that maybe I have no clue what on earth you're going on about?!"

Rukia's glare became even more piercing, and Ichigo felt the urge to turn away, though that was physically impossible in his current predicament. "Don't mess with me, Kurosaki," she hissed. "I am not in the mood."

"Yeah, well, you know what? Neither am I," he retorted, bitter spite lacing his tone. "You have no idea just how much I wanted to see you today, only to get called in to help my dad at the goddamn hospital. And then, just when I'm let off early and things are finally looking up, I come home to find you—my girlfriend—screwing my brother. You can imagine that I'm not in the best of moods, either."

The truth of his words cut deep; she didn't like to think of herself that way, as a slut. But then she reminded him, "We were together for one night, Ichigo. That hardly seems like enough to make me your girlfriend."

Ouch. That stung. "So, what—that night meant nothing to you? Is that what you're saying? God, Rukia, I thought we were more than that."

There was indeed a part of her desperately longing to make amends and tell him that the one night they spent together had meant a lot to her—and still did—and that there was more to it than just a one-night stand. But she was still mad at him, and her pride wouldn't allow her to say what was really in her heart. Instead, she answered him back with "We're not, and we never were." It certainly hurt to say it, but she wouldn't let herself falter in her words. "We're nothing, Ichigo."

The weight of that last statement hit him like a ton of bricks, and he winced. "I see," he said with a little difficulty, hiding the pain he held inside. "So why are you still here?" He wanted to take back the words as soon as he said them, but it was too late.

"That's a good question." She picked her clothes up off the floor and began to dress herself. At that moment, they both wished they could simply turn back time; take back what they had said and start over. But neither of them knew what they would say in place of the scathing words they'd exchanged, so neither took any action. The room was filled with silent tension, even as Rukia smoothed out the hem of her skirt and walked right out the door, leaving behind no acknowledgement or goodbye to signify to Ichigo that she still cared.

As soon as she was gone, Ichigo went into his room and collapsed onto his bed. He was still in a state of shock. It took him several minutes laying there facing the wall before it finally began to hit him. _I guess… it's over._ He felt hurt and empty and didn't know if he would ever leave that bed again.

* * *

Rukia was glad Byakuya always worked late during the week—that day, in particular, as it meant there was no one around to eye her suspiciously, disapprovingly, as she shoved her house key into the lock, slammed the door open then shut, and stormed up the stairs into her room. Byakuya definitely would have had something to say about her behaviour had he been home, which is why Rukia was eternally grateful he wasn't. Her experiences that day weren't ones she planned to confide in her brother about, ever.

Roughly and sloppily, she kicked off her shoes and headed for her bed. The mattress felt good against her back as she stared up at the ceiling, thinking back on all those things that she wished she hadn't said and those that she hadn't but wished she had.

She opened her mouth to scream, to let out some of her suppressed frustration, but what came out instead was even more surprising than anything else she'd seen or heard that day: a sob. She didn't understand where it came from but before she knew it, she was crying, and she couldn't stop.

By the end of it all, instead of releasing her anger, she extinguished it with her tears, and all that was left was pain and guilt and a vicious ache in her heart.

* * *

Dinner at the Kurosaki residence that night was awkward, to say the least. Ichigo didn't once glance at the meal he was eating; all he did was glare at his older brother sitting opposite him at the dining room table. The older brother, on the other hand, tried to make light of the situation by inconspicuously turning away from Ichigo's murderous scowl and chuckling lightly, hoping to let the topic drop. For a while, Isshin was there, too, watching the silent exchange between his two sons with amusement.

The man did feel a little worried, though, when he was called back to the hospital for an emergency; by the looks of things, Ichigo was just about ready to kill someone, and he could only guess who the potential target would be. But still, work was work, so he reluctantly put on his coat and left the boys alone in the house.

Not a minute passed and Kaien couldn't stay silent any longer. "So," he said, trying to sound conversational, "how's school been lately?" He hoped it would lighten the atmosphere.

It didn't. "Shut up," Ichigo snapped. "You make me sick. I don't want to talk to you. As a matter of fact, I don't even want to hear your voice."

"That's a little harsh," Kaien chuckled, scratching his neck. "I think the best thing to do right now is to put this behind us and move on—what do you say to that?"

All of a sudden, Ichigo was leaning across the table, his chest knocking over the glass of water at his side, as he grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt. "I say, _screw you_," he growled.

For a moment there, Kaien was genuinely afraid of what his little brother might do. "Ichigo," he ordered in a stern tone, "_let go_."

Ichigo's grip loosened, but that was all. He pulled Kaien up then to meet his fiery glare. "_Move on_, you say?" he mocked. "Don't try making a joke out of this. It won't be funny."

"That's not what I meant." Kaien's jaw tightened, then he sighed. "Look, Ichigo, believe me when I tell you that what happened today was just a stupid spur-of-the-moment decision. It meant nothing to me and it certainly meant nothing to her."

That triggered something in Ichigo. He thought back to that first night he spent with Rukia—hadn't that just been a spur-of-the-moment decision, too? "It meant nothing to her, eh?" he mused. "Just like me…"

Despite how softly he spoke, Kaien still heard him. "You're wrong," Kaien argued, but Ichigo wouldn't budge, so he pushed his case further. "Think about it. She came here to see _you_, she only stayed because she was so set on talking something over with _you_, and it was _your_ name she screamed when, you know…"

Ichigo didn't appreciate being reminded of that last part, though he did feel a secret satisfaction in knowing that. He let go of his brother's collar then—suddenly and unexpectedly—causing Kaien to land painfully back in his seat. Without another word, Ichigo walked out and retreated to his room. When he re-emerged back into the halls, he was shoving his wallet into the pocket of his old, torn jeans and then proceeded to shrug on a black leather coat to top the printed white shirt beneath.

Kaien went to stand beside him. "Heading out?"

"I need some fresh air," he stated simply, walking to the door.

Kaien sighed, knowing full well his brother's true destination wouldn't give him much fresh air at all. "Look—you're gonna need ID," he said. He reached into his pocket and dug around a bit before retrieving a rectangular-shaped card and holding it out to the boy. "Here—take mine."

Ichigo blinked. He couldn't believe it. So his brother was just going to _give _him his ID to borrow for the night? Furthermore, he _knew_ he was going out to get wasted? So why was he allowing this? Ichigo later found out that Kaien had been feeling much guiltier about what had happened than he'd been letting on, and this was just his first step to redemption. But, at the time, Ichigo didn't know this, so he raised his eyebrows and waited patiently for the catch.

"You won't get caught," Kaien assured, misinterpreting Ichigo's reluctance. "Just say you recently dyed your hair and they'll buy it, no sweat."

Ichigo was about to thank him—purely out of common courtesy and habit—but quickly reminded himself of the reason he needed to go out and cool off in the first place, so he simply brushed past his brother, snatched the card on the way, and walked to the front door.

"Don't be out too late."

The door slammed open and then shut again within seconds, leaving Kaien to wonder what kind of trouble his little brother would be getting himself into this time. He wouldn't find out for a while, though, as he had already made plans to return to campus early the next morning. And if it wasn't for what happened next, the news probably wouldn't have been as eventful as it turned out to be.

It was a little later that night—about half an hour after Ichigo left—that the front door slammed open again in the same fashion, though this time it was Rukia who stepped over the threshold. Kaien found that kind of ironic. At any rate, Rukia had been feeling terribly guilty about what she had said to Ichigo earlier and finally gave in to the idea of talking it over with him. She wasn't sure if she was ready to get into anything serious with him just yet, but she was sure she needed to let him know there wasn't _nothing_ there; there was certainly _something_ that could be kindled and that could become something beautiful and irrevocable if given the chance and time. And that's why she was there, to make sure she hadn't lost them their chance.

Her brother hadn't yet realised she wasn't in her room—she had had to sneak out whilst he was in the bathroom—so she couldn't stay too long. "Ichigo! Ichigo!" she called out as soon as she was inside.

"He's not here."

She turned to the dark-haired man descending the case of stairs, his hair wet from his recent shower. "Kaien… Wait—what do you mean he's not here?"

She heard him sigh at that. "The kid needed some time to cool off. My guess is he's at some bar downtown right as we speak. I think you should—"

"Right. Thanks. Bye." Without letting Kaien even finish his suggestion, Rukia was already on her way out the door.

"—go find him…"

And she was long gone.

Kaien held his palm against his face and shook his head in pity. "Those two… When will they learn to work it out together, I wonder?" He walked over to the front door that Rukia had neglected to shut and closed it gently, letting one last wintry breeze sneak in through the gap.

He smirked. "I guess it can't be helped. They're still young, after all."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, ****the main reason this chapter took so long is because it feels like there's so much unnecessary material and pointless scenes in here and I kept trying to think of a way to change it without disturbing the flow of the story but couldn't come up with anything. Oh well. I'll make up for it with the next chapter, hopefully. Speaking of which, I'm not even going to try to calculate how long before I update again because I always, _always_ underestimate.**

**My **_**Fade To Black**_** play count is now at seventy-eight, by the way.**


	3. Three Heart to hearts

**A/N: I kept revising and rewriting this chapter, especially the second half, so now I have about three different variations of it on my laptop, though the main idea remains the same. This is actually the shortest version, though hopefully the most logical.**

* * *

**Moonlit Escape  
**_**Chapter 3: Three Heart-to-hearts**_

"Rukia?" Byakuya knocked patiently on his sister's bedroom door, again and again, but received no reply. After two chances, he was tired of waiting, and he opened the door.

To say he was surprised to find the room empty would be an understatement. He had already checked the rest of the house; Rukia was nowhere to be seen. He had gone easy on her about Friday night—she had, after all, maintained a near-perfect record for the past seventeen years—but this time he knew he would have to take action; make clear to her what was expected and what would not be accepted.

He looked around the vacant room, feeling his frustration boil beneath his cold exterior. He hated not being in control, especially of his own family. He did, however, see this as an opportunity to do a little investigating. Not that he needed evidence to voice his thoughts, but he did want to find something to support his suspicions about where his sister may have snuck off to at this time of day.

* * *

It was almost pitch-dark outside. Rukia hadn't brought a watch but she assumed it was sometime around eight. She was walking down the sidewalk, having had no money for a cab, which meant more time to think about everything that had happened and everything that could happen from here on out.

The first alternative was she could give Ichigo the benefit of the doubt. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Although this would then involve much explaining and apologising on her part, she knew it was the better choice.

The other option she had was to stick to her hastily-made conclusions and turn back now. Although it was very appealing, she knew she couldn't. She knew she would never forgive herself if she did.

* * *

The town they live in would be considered neither big nor flashy. So it stands to reason that Ichigo didn't have too much of a choice when deciding upon which bar to drown his grievances in for the night.

He ended up walking into one that was quite tame—not that he had much firsthand experience to compare with—for which he was relieved. There were a few bundles of people scattered about, but they were easily avoided as he slinked to the back corner of the room and took the closest barstool there was, observing a few bartenders pouring drinks and exchanging pleasantries with their customers.

He knocked a fist down on the counter, drawing the attention of a young waitress, probably aged about twenty by his judgement, who was now walking toward him with a bored yet sceptical expression on her face. "Eh? Are you even old enough to be in here?"

Ichigo held back the look of dread and alarm that would've given him away, and answered, "Sure I am."

She raised a brow. "I'd like to see some ID, then."

Ichigo rolled his eyes for effect as he reached into his pocket and took out the card that Kaien had so graciously lent him for the night. He handed it over and she accepted it with a curt yet colourful "Thank you."

Whilst she examined the photo on the ID and looked up at regular intervals to compare it to the boy sitting before her, Ichigo decided to do a little scrutinising of his own as his eyes travelled over this theatrical girl.

Her hair was a murky purple, tied up high in the centre of her head by a bright yellow ribbon and spiky up top. She wore the same black and white uniform as the other waitresses in the bar, the top few buttons of her shirt undone to reveal minimal cleavage. Her eyes were a startling orange, big and full, and they sparkled with innocence and goodwill. As they studied 'his' ID, however, they squinted and deepened, drawing conclusions that Ichigo didn't want her to see.

"This isn't you," she finally stated, plopping the card back down on the counter between them. "But, you know, to be honest, I don't really care."

"Huh?"

She chuckled. "I'm barely nineteen myself," she whispered, winking and raising her index finger to her lips, as if to say, _You better keep this under your hat_. "The name's Senna."

"Ichigo," he reciprocated. "So, then, why are you working in a place like this?"

"My dad wants me to earn some money for the family," she said, "and one of his friends just happened to be the manager here. So, now he's getting me to work every shift he can get a hold of."

"I see. Sounds tough."

"I get by."

Ichigo sighed, the novelty of small talk with a complete stranger wearing off. "So are you going to get me a drink or not?"

"Such impatience." She looked around, then answered, "Alright. It seems you might make good company for the night. What'll you have?"

* * *

Almost an hour and several drinks later, Ichigo's tongue was considerably looser, though still able to form coherent words for the most part. He had ended up telling Senna everything about what had happened to bring him here, and she'd listened, interested and attentive.

"Tell me," she said once he'd finished his tale. "How does it feel to be in love?"

"Don't ask me. I've never been in love."

"Okay… Then how does it feel to be in… like?"

"I doubt it was that, either."

"So what was it, then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was just lust."

"You don't sound like you believe that."

"What would you know?"

"I know when someone's in denial." After receiving a sceptical look in response, she added, "Believe me; I've seen it around here more than enough to be able to tell."

He took another swig of his drink, muttering a sarcastic "Sure" under his breath.

"Okay, let me ask you this," she said. "Do you still want to be with this girl?"

It took him half a second to decide, though it took him two to answer. "Yeah, I do."

"Then go for it," she urged.

"Huh. You make it sound so easy," he scoffed.

"Isn't it?"

He questioned her optimism with a cynical brow. "No, it's not," he said.

Before she could ask, he lifted his glass and gulped down its remaining contents. Once it was empty, he slammed it back down onto the counter. "Another."

* * *

It wasn't too long later that Senna decided to put her foot down. "Alright," she said, "I think it's about time you called it a night." She took the empty glass out of his hand and watched as he slumped down onto the counter.

"You think so?" he mumbled, almost unintelligible. The alcohol had definitely begun to set in—thus enunciation was currently not his strongest suit.

"I know so," replied Senna. "Now, then. How ever do you plan on getting home?"

"Ugh…" Ichigo groaned, feeling dreadful and listless. "I guess… I'll have to call somebody."

"Sounds like a good idea. You have a phone?"

"Yeah." He reached into his coat. "Somewhere around here…" After fumbling around for a while, he finally found it in his back pant pocket. "Aha…" He pulled it up and slouched over it on the table, scrolling through his contacts and contemplating what each person's reaction would be to his predicament.

"No luck?" Senna enquired after reading his disheartened expression. "I would offer you a lift, but my shift doesn't end until two and my dad would kill me for skipping off early. What a pain…"

Ichigo dismissed the notion. "No, it's fine; don't worry." Grimacing, he added, "I think I've got my ride."

* * *

"Kurosaki." It had taken Uryuu Ishida less than twenty minutes to arrive. Always the reliable one. Ichigo was glad he'd chosen the guy. "Damn it, Kurosaki, what in the world were you thinking?!"

Then again, maybe not.

"Not so loud," he said. "My head can't take it right now."

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it? Good grief, you really are an idiot."

"Gee, thanks."

"Hey, I'm not here to make you feel better," said Uryuu. "I'm here to drive your sorry ass home." He sighed. "So let's go. You can do the rest of your moping at home."

Ichigo stood up suddenly and said, "Shut up; I wasn't moping. I was—"

Unfortunately, he hadn't realised how off his sense of balance was, and remaining upright for longer than two seconds turned out to be an impossible task, so Uryuu supported him by the shoulder and was on his way out when Ichigo grumbled something about needing to throw up. Uryuu happened to quite like having an untainted car, so he dragged them both into the men's room, immediately guiding Ichigo—who was looking worse and worse by the second—into one of the lavatories, aligning his face straight above the bowl.

Meanwhile, out in the main room of the bar, there was someone else who was feeling quite disgusted with themselves, though it was due to no effect of alcohol.

* * *

Rukia plopped down onto a stool and sighed, just about ready to give up. This was the third bar she'd visited, and it was the first where she hadn't been thrown out upon entry.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

She looked up then to see a purple-haired bartender smiling at her welcomingly. "Would you like a drink?" the girl offered. "Or are you waiting for someone?"

_Neither._ "I'm trying to find this friend of mine."

"Oh. Someone important?"

Rukia cupped her chin in her palm. "Not really," she said.

The waitress giggled. "That special, eh? What's he look like?"

_Tall, handsome… incredibly hot. _"Well, he has obnoxiously bright orange hair." Rukia put a finger to her chin. "That pretty much says it all, really."

"I don't know; I think the amber eyes are quite a sight to behold, too, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess…Wait—how did you—"

The waitress smiled warmly. "Ah, I just knew it wasn't as hopeless as he made it out to be."

"So he was here?" Rukia's eyes were suddenly alive, ablaze with the possibility that she was on the right track.

"Oh, yes. We talked; he had a few drinks. Nice guy."

"So he left?"

"No, no—he's just in the bathroom." She pointed a finger ahead, and Rukia turned to look. "It's the door on the far left."

Rukia didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

"Ugh, sorry, man." Ichigo wiped his mouth on his sleeve, taking a few seconds to make sure he was done being sick for the moment, and then walked out to the nearest sink, with Uryuu hovering close behind.

"Alright, Kurosaki, now would you mind telling me what's going on?"

"It's… complicated."

"I'm sure I can keep up." Uryuu always likes to be in the know, as Ichigo has always been well aware of. "Tell, Kurosaki. I have all night."

Ichigo supported his hands on both sides of the sink, and heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, there's this girl—"

"Rukia Kuchiki, was it?"

He groaned, too drained to show his surprise. "Right. How'd you know?"

Uryuu shrugged—Ichigo could see it in the mirror's reflection. "Heard it around."

"Great."

"So, what about her? Were you guys actually together?"

Ichigo really didn't feel like explaining, so he just repeated what he said earlier: "It's complicated." Besides, he wasn't quite sure about the answer himself.

"I'll take that as a yes. What did she do to get you so down? Break up with you?"

_Kinda… _"She slept with my brother."

"Wow. Pretty harsh way to tell a guy, 'I'm not into you,' huh?"

Ichigo glared at Uryuu's reflection. "Funny. Real funny, man."

"Just saying. So, why'd she do it?"

"Uh… something to do with the school and us and everyone knowing… Ugh, _I don't know_," he snapped. "She never bothered to explain it properly." He took a pause then to sigh. "She never even gave me a chance to tell her I'd never do anything like that."

"You do realise, Kurosaki, from what you're telling me, I'm not getting the best impression of this girl. It doesn't sound like she's worth all this trouble."

"But that's just it; I think maybe she is."

* * *

Rukia was frozen in place behind the restroom partition. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, especially in a place like this, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She couldn't bring herself to stop listening.

"Honestly, Kurosaki. All this, just for a girl?"

"She's not just—" At that moment, Rukia heard Ichigo stop to hurl his dinner into a sink. After some subsequent coughing and hacking, his voice returned, albeit rough and strained. "She's not just… any girl, okay?"

"Then tell me—what _is_ she?"

"She's… I don't know how to describe it. I just have this feeling, like she might be something special. I think she… she might be the one."

"All this from one night? Geez. How much have you had to drink?"

"I'm serious, okay? I really… I really felt something with her."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Well, you might have felt something, but maybe she didn't."

At that, Rukia finally thawed, and she stepped in. "That's not true."

The sound of her voice silenced both males as they turned to stare wide-eyed at their unexpected guest. "Rukia…"

There was so much going through Ichigo's mind at that moment. A myriad of emotions presented themselves to him, overpowering his better senses. It was more than he thought he could handle. "What are you doing here?" he asked, gritting out the words impassively as he held his head with one hand to dull the ache.

"I'm here to take you home." It was almost a sigh, almost a plea.

"Too late," he told her, pointing behind himself at Uryuu. "Already got myself a chauffeur."

"Ichigo…" She took a step toward him. "We really need to talk." She turned to Uryuu and asked, "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," he replied. "In fact, you'll be taking quite a lot of trouble off my hands. You sure you can handle it?"

Rukia stole a glance at Ichigo, then answered, "Yeah, I can, and I will. You don't have to worry about me—about us."

"Excellent. So I'll leave him in your hands, then. See you around." Uryuu remained ever so smooth and indifferent as he stepped around the partition and swung open the door, signalling his departure. After hearing the second creak—the result of the door swinging shut—Rukia finally felt like she was alone with Ichigo and could say what needed to be said.

She started off simple. She didn't think he could take in all that much in his condition, anyway. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to… I mean, I didn't want…" She sighed, and started again. "Look. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way."

"You didn't mean for _what_ to turn out this way?"

"Us." It was a soft brush of air past her lips, but it felt strong enough to reach into the depths of his heart.

"I thought you said we were nothing," he muttered bitterly.

She shook her head. "I—I didn't meant that. I was… upset."

"I'm the one who should be upset," he said, "not you." He stood up straight, away from the sink, and after ensuring he didn't feel like throwing up for the time being, he stepped towards Rukia, trying hard to keep his balance. "I didn't do anything, alright? I don't know what kind of image you have of me, but that's not who I am."

"And how was I meant to know that?" she asked. "We spent one night together and suddenly I'm supposed to believe everything you say? How could I not consider the possibility that, maybe, it was all just an act?"

"An act, huh? I must be a pretty damn good actor, then, because I almost managed to fool myself into believing that I—"

It was at that moment that Ichigo lost his balance; he swayed and stumbled and lurched forward, unable to catch himself in time.

"Ichigo!" Rukia held out her arms to save him from his fall, managing to get both hands beneath his shoulders but faltering under the sudden weight above her so that they both ended up half-plunging to the floor before she steadied their load and pulled them back up.

"Ugh. Sorry," Ichigo said, head hung down and arms limp in Rukia's hold.

"Shh. Let's just get you out of here."

Ichigo gave a faint nod of approval before letting himself be dragged away, his half-lidded eyes still directed towards the floor, so he couldn't tell if anyone in the bar was taking notice of them as they took their leave. Frankly, he didn't care. Dignity and self-image registered very low on his list of priorities in that moment.

* * *

"Careful, careful," Rukia cooed. They were outside, and she was still supporting most of Ichigo's weight on her shoulders as she guided them to his car. Once there, she looked to him and asked, "Keys?"

He groaned in reply, and shook his head. She took it that he wasn't feeling well enough to travel. She looked around then and found an empty bench a little ways down the street. It had its back to a brightly-lit music shop that was showing off an array of guitars and keyboards in the window. _Good enough,_ Rukia decided.

She led them to the wooden seat and sat herself down on one side first, then she carefully laid Ichigo down across its entirely length, letting his head rest snugly in her lap, and turned him onto his side just slightly—in case he decided to throw up. He groaned something incoherent, sounding on the edge of sleep.

"It's okay," she murmured down to him. "Rest. We have all the time in the world."

"Just… tell me… something…"

"Sure."

"Why? Why did you…? You trying to hurt me, weren't you?"

She paused. The second seemed to last forever, but eventually she heard herself answer, "Yes."

"Why?"

She bit down on her lip, guilty and ashamed. "You really didn't know, did you? About… what people were saying?"

"How could I?" She couldn't tell if he was purposely suppressing his anger or if he was just too tired to raise his voice. "I wasn't at school, remember? Unless the news spread to the hospital, too, how could I have known?"

"Oh."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

She wanted to believe him, so badly, but it was fighting against every logical bone in her body reminding her that only he could have known, about them, about their relationship. Her teeth bit down harder on her lip, unsure of whether to listen to her head or her heart.

"God, Rukia, if you really think I would be such a jerk as to—"

"No," she interjected. She took a moment, then said, "Okay, I believe you—but on one condition. Look me in the eye and tell me you never told anyone about us, and I'll take your word for it."

Ichigo groaned and plastered a palm to his face. "Shouldn't you be asking me this when I'm sober?"

"Well, here's my theory: nobody's a good liar when they're drunk."

"Where'd you get that idea from?"

"Just do it. Please, Ichigo."

He uncovered his face then to look her in the eye. "Okay, fine. I promise you, I never told anyone about what happened between us. Heck, I never even told anyone I was with you that night."

She nodded. "Alright. I believe you." Now that that was sorted out, Rukia knew what had to come next, though it didn't make it any less difficult. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Ichigo. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that and I definitely shouldn't have come onto your brother like that. It was wrong and stupid and I wish it'd never happened."

Ichigo took his time conjuring up an appropriate response. He didn't think there was one.

Rukia waited with painted-on patience, but Ichigo knew she was internally dying from the suspense. He knew he had to spare her. What he delivered wasn't mercy, though; it was truth.

"I was pissed," he said, "at both of you."

She nodded. She had to take all that he threw her way, because she knew she deserved it.

He chuckled darkly then. "Oh, when I walked in on the two of you, I just—you know, I wanted to kill someone. I really did."

"Sorry." She didn't know what else she could say.

He turned to look at her eyes, remorseful and sincere, and closed his own, at peace. "I know you are."

She felt the urge to kiss him, comfort him, but didn't think it would be appropriate, so she reached down and gently stroked his hair, slow and steady, giving him a chance to ask her to stop. He didn't. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it, his face softening into a half-smile.

After she was sure he was okay with the contact, she bent down and pecked his forehead, short and sweet. Ichigo was floating on the brink of consciousness at this point, but he was awake enough to turn away and say, "Not yet. Let's give it some time."

She understood. "Just friends, then?"

"Yeah, sure," he murmured, slipping away, "friends…"

After he drifted off to sleep, Rukia sat there for God-knows-how-long just watching him and thinking what a mess this had all become. And then, suddenly, she heard her cell phone ringing in her pocket, the upbeat chorus of 'Shake It' by Metro Station snapping her from her thoughts. She quickly took it out and answered the call, her immediate concern being Ichigo waking from the tune. "Hello?" she said quietly into the speaker.

"Rukia?"

She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't her brother. "Oh, hi, Momo. What's going on?"

"Just felt like checking up on you. How are you feeling?"

_What a question. _"I could be better."

"Have you had a chance to talk to Ichigo yet?"

"Yeah, I did…" _You don't know the half of it._ "And it turns out, he wasn't the one who told."

"Oh. You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Then who did?"

Rukia shrugged—a moot action. "Beats me."

"Hmm… Oh, I know what we should do!" Rukia could just imagine a light bulb going off above Momo's head at that moment. "I'm going to my cousin's house this Saturday, and I think you should come. He's, like, _really_ smart. I'm sure he can help us figure it out."

"Umm… that's an idea. But, Momo, he doesn't go to our school, right? I doubt he really knows anything about us. Thanks for the offer, but, you know, it doesn't even matter any—"

"No, no, I'm sure it'll work out. I'm telling you, there's nothing that he can't solve."

"Well, if you insist…" Rukia sighed. "How old is he, anyway?"

"Um… I know he's two years younger than me, so… fourteen."

"Momo!"

"What?"

"Is this a joke?"

"Of course not!" the girl defended. "Just come with me on Saturday and you'll see."

"Fine."

"So, I'll see you at school tomorrow, then?"

"Guess so."

"Okay. Bye, Rukia."

"Bye."

Rukia put away her phone and looked back down at Ichigo, who had stayed fast asleep through that whole conversation. She figured it was safe to take him home now.

On the drive back to Ichigo's house, all Rukia had to keep her company were her thoughts. She still wasn't sure if she was forgiven, but she did know Ichigo didn't entirely hate her. He'd said he needed 'some time,' which meant he was still willing to give them a chance. Rukia realised then, the reason why something so insignificant—a simple high school rumour—could lead to this.

They had rushed into this too fast. That first night, they'd built up a bond so beautiful, so intense, so painstakingly wonderful, but it had happened all too quickly—the foundation needed for a stable relationship hadn't had time to form. That's what had made it so easy to collapse, break, and shatter.

And now, they were left to put the pieces back together.

* * *

Rukia felt a rush of déjà vu as she cautiously opened the front door, the sky behind her pitch-black, and snuck inside with the stealth of a phantom thief. Or so she thought.

"Where have you been?"

She visibly jolted before she reached over to flick on the lights and saw her brother sitting calmly on their living room couch, sipping at a cup of coffee. "Welcome back," he said. On the surface, he was perfectly composed, but she could tell he was seething inside. She knew she should have had an explanation or excuse ready, but she didn't.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I… went over to Momo's. She called and said she needed help with her homework."

"Don't lie to me—you've been doing that quite a lot lately, haven't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"There's something going on between you and some boy. Isn't that right?"

Rukia pretended her nerves hadn't just turned to ice. "Why would you think—" She stopped once her eyes strayed to the coffee table and saw an unopened white box sitting on top. _Oh, shit,_ she thought. _The pregnancy test…_

He took it from her expression that she had caught on. He nodded to the couch opposite himself, which was identical to the one he currently occupied. "Sit."

She did as she was told, and took a seat. Her hands were suddenly very tense and anxious in her lap.

"Now, tell me, Rukia. Who is he?"

She couldn't tell him. She just couldn't.

Byakuya was impatient and exasperated, though he would never let it show. "I used to be able to trust you," he said. "I never had to worry if you were keeping secrets from me."

Rukia winced. The past tense hurt more than she would have thought.

"But now," he continued, "it looks like that's all changed. Perhaps it's time we leave this town; it seems to be having a bad effect on you."

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. "Are you saying we're going to _move_—just like that? You can't be serious."

He raised an immaculate brow, daring her to question his authority.

"I won't go along with this," she declared. "You can't make me leave."

"It is not your decision to make."

"It never is, is it?"

Evidently, he wasn't surprised by her bitter outburst. He was unmoved as he told her, "I am willing to discuss this, if you give me an answer. If not, I will be forced to take action." He challenged her with his eyes. "Well?"

* * *

When Ichigo eventually woke, he was alone in his bed and still dressed in his clothes from the night before. It was four in the afternoon.

Ichigo massaged his head, feeling the night coming back to him in disconnected pieces and shards. "Rukia…" he breathed in realisation. He sat up and held his head in his hands, thinking, _We still have a lot to work out, don't we? _But then he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a piece of white paper on his desk that hadn't been there before. He got up slowly, sluggishly, and made his way over to take a closer look.

She'd left him a note.

_Ichigo,_

_Let's start over._

_Call me when you're feeling better and we can talk about having a proper first date._

_Let's do it right this time._

_Rukia_

Beneath that, she'd left a mobile number, and then she'd gone and drawn two bunny rabbits below that, hand-in-hand, smiling. Ichigo scoffed at the pathetic sketch. He folded up the note and stashed it carefully beneath a stack of folders in his drawer. God only knew what would happen if his dad were to find it.

He was about to head downstairs for a glass of water to clear away the rest of his hangover when, all of a sudden, he heard music playing somewhere nearby. He recognised it as a song that had been especially popular about a year ago—'Shake It,' he believed it was called. It sounded like it may have been coming from the other side of the wall, or…

Suddenly, the music stopped, and Ichigo swore he heard a soft and groggy voice say, "Hello?" He tentatively stepped towards his closet, where it seemed the noise had originated, and slid open the door.

There she was.

By the looks of things, she had just been asleep. She was wearing yellow flannel pyjamas and holding a cell phone against her ear. "Oh, it seems I have company," she said into the mouthpiece. "Could you call me back? Thanks." She flipped her phone shut and turned to Ichigo. "Hey."

"Wh—wh—what are you doing in here?"

"Well…" She was avoiding his gaze. "I don't know how to say this, but… I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened and his mouth was agape. He tried to speak, but couldn't. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. Then, finally, she decided to put him out of his misery.

"Relax," she said. "I was just kidding. Geez."

He seemed to be able to breathe again at that. "Oh, very funny. Why would you do that to me?!"

"Well, now it won't seem like such big news when I tell you that I'm moving in, here."

"Oh. Wait, WHAT?!"

* * *

**A/N: I think ****I might be taking a little break after this (though you probably won't even notice since my updates are so slow anyway) so that I can try and relax during my last two weeks of summer vacation (yes, it is summer where I live; I have not gone delusional) and also take the chance to do some cleaning and organising around my room before my sophomore year starts in February (okay, I would never actually use the term 'sophomore' since I live in Australia but it's fun trying it out, you know).**

**While I'm here, I guess I should tell you that my best friend in real life, whose penname on here is **_**Ciel In A Dress**_**, has started an IchiRuki story that she got me to beta read. It's called **_**The Bakery**_**, and it's adorably cute and funny. Please check it out if you have the chance.**

**And, I can now truthfully say that I've seen **_**Fade To Black **_**a hundred times. (Hm, perhaps it's about time I stop…)**


	4. Four Lists

**A/N: School's been terrible, thus I've been stressed, thus uninspired. But, I finally managed to push myself to update by buying a packet of Oreos and deliberately putting it on my desk right where I could see it but forbidding myself from eating any until I published this chapter. Now I can enjoy this lovely Oreo with peace of mind.**

* * *

**Moonlit Escape  
**_**Chapter 4: Four Lists**_

"Alright, back up for a second. You're… _moving in_?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Oh, she had some explaining to do.

"Um, okay… _Why_?"

She ignored his query, casually stepping out from the closet, and mused to herself, "I think I feel like going out for a walk now…"

"Hey—wait! Don't ignore me!"

Her quick steps took her down the hall, and he followed, demanding an explanation. After a swift chase through the house, she finally stopped and promised to explain the situation to him, as long as he'd let her take a shower whilst she did so. He figured she didn't want to have to say it to his face, and agreed to her terms, waiting until he was standing outside the bathroom, back pressed up against the closed door, to begin the inquisition.

"Why are you here?" he asked. Inside, he heard her turn on the water. "Did something happen?"

"It's my brother; he got wise to us," she confessed, not mentioning _how_. "He threatened we'd move if I didn't tell him who it was I was seeing."

"And did you?"

"No."

"So he kicked you out?"

"No." She almost laughed. "He wouldn't dare."

"Then—"

"I'm sure he did mean it when he said he'd make us move, though. So I beat him to it; I left. Today, when he was at work and I was meant to be at school, I packed my stuff and moved them here."

"Why here?" he asked. "What about your other friends?"

"Not too many to pick from," she stated simply. "I hear Momo's parents are having some problems, so I wouldn't want to bother them. And Renji… well, I don't know how well his mum would take to a girl in the house. Besides, I don't even want to begin to try and explain the situation to him. It'd just be too awkward, you know? So, that's about it," she said. "I'm not really close enough with anyone else to ask to live with them like this.

"But don't worry; it won't be for long," she added. "I'll even earn my keep."

Ichigo couldn't wait to see that.

Turns out, she couldn't actually cook, as there'd never been anyone around to teach her, but she could certainly wash and clean and dry like no one Ichigo had ever seen before. She also volunteered to pay for any groceries or incidentals that may have come up, but Ichigo declined the offer, telling her that his father was earning enough to feed well over a family of five.

Still, as the pair stood at the check-out of their local supermarket that evening with a trolley of various necessities, it seemed to Ichigo that he had not been clear enough about his refusal—or that she had just chosen to ignore it completely—since she decided to pull out her wallet and ask the clerk, "How much?"

Ichigo shot her a glare and hissed, "I told you, I don't want your money."

"That all comes to forty-two dollars," the cashier reported, oblivious to their quarrel.

"Sure thing." Rukia began to pull a fifty out of her wallet, but Ichigo was quick to cut in.

"Oh, no you don't." He quickly grabbed an identical note out of his own wallet and slammed it down in front of the clerk—who, frankly, looked a bit frightened by the act.

"Um, thank you, sir." The man filed the fifty into the cash register, and handed Ichigo the change followed by the receipt. "Have a nice day."

Ichigo muttered a "Thank you" before taking two plastic bags in his hands, leaving Rukia to take the last one, and heading out into the parking lot.

"You should've just let me pay," Rukia said as they stepped out of the store.

"That would have been unnecessary."

"You letting me live in your house is unnecessary, too," she pointed out.

He sighed, hanging his head. "I can't just let you go homeless, now can I?"

"Still," she said, "why couldn't you just let me do this?"

"Because…" he murmured.

She waited.

They continued walking and soon arrived at his car, where he gave in and answered, "It's because I don't think I'm quite ready… to start depending on you, just yet."

"Oh." She didn't know any better way to respond.

* * *

"So, what's our story gonna be?" Ichigo asked as they prepared to turn in for the night.

"Hmm?" Rukia's answer was muffled from inside the closet. She was changing into her pyjamas, as he had just finished doing so in the main portion of his room.

"You said people are talking about us, right? So what do we say if someone asks?"

"Well, I suppose the best thing to do is to just keep our mouths shut and it'll go away. That way, they'll have nothing to go on, and they'll have to find someone else to bother."

"Sure, sounds good. But just why _are_ they bothering with us in the first place? It's not like we're that important or anything."

"But that's just it," she said. "To hear that the resident slut got screwed would be no big deal, right? In fact, it's to be expected. But to hear that it's two nobodies like us—in a school this superficial, that's like announcing the end of the world."

"Huh, I guess I see your point."

"Well, then"—she opened the closet door, having finished dressing, and peeked around to check the time on the wall—"I suppose we should get some sleep. Can't be late for social ridicule tomorrow, now can we?"

"Are you really gonna sleep in there?" he asked, doubtful.

She looked at him oddly. "Well, it would be strange if your dad happened to come home during the night to find a strange girl sleeping on his couch, don't you think?"

"Oh. Right. Goodnight, then," he said.

"'Night," she answered. And that was the end to one fine day.

* * *

When they arrived at school the next morning, nobody seemed to notice them getting out of the same car, so they went about their separate ways and proceeded to go on with their lives as if the past week had never happened. But—as Rukia was about to learn—just because _you_ want to forgive and forget, it doesn't mean everyone else is going to share that view and play along.

Upon arriving at her first period maths class, Rukia immediately spotted Momo and Renji waiting for her at the back of the room. She quietly made her way there and took the free seat between them.

"Rukia." Momo smiled. "It's good to have you back. We missed you yesterday."

Rukia's eyes immediately flickered toward Renji, wondering if the "we" had been added purely out of habit. After finding him avoiding her gaze and staring blankly at the wall, she turned back to Momo and said, "Yeah, sorry about that. I was busy… making a few arrangements."

"Arrangements?" Momo asked, curious.

"Would these 'arrangements' have anything to do with Ichigo Kurosaki by any chance?" Renji spoke up, much to Rukia's surprise.

"Maybe," she replied with care.

"Hmph."

A somewhat-awkward silence passed over them, just in time for their maths teacher to begin her explanation on the long division of polynomials.

Rukia had learnt it all before, having taken extra tutoring sessions outside of school on Byakuya's insistence as well as his dollar, so she was soon tuning out the lesson and writing a note on the corner of a page from her exercise book instead. She ripped it out once she was done, and slid it onto Renji's desk. It was opened slowly, discreetly, before a pair of narrow crimson eyes passed quickly over the four small words: _What's on your mind?_

Renji pretended he hadn't seen the text, and let the note 'accidentally' fall to the floor, crushing it beneath his foot.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a classroom a few doors down, Ichigo had his own nuisances to deal with.

"How did it go, Kurosaki?"

"Can it, Ishida. I don't need to hear anything from you right now." Ichigo was actually trying to listen in class—a practice that his smartass friend here had no use for, apparently.

"Honestly, Kurosaki, I'm curious."

Ichigo glared at his supposed friend. "Well, if you must know, we talked, I passed out, and she took me home."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"And then, I woke up the next afternoon and found her living in my closet."

If Uryuu didn't keep his dignity so close to his heart, he would have burst out laughing then and there. As it was, he chuckled lightly and said, "This just gets better and better. Please, do go on."

Ichigo's glare intensified. "Look, she's just having some problems at home with her brother. She needed a place to stay and I happened to be the most convenient choice. It's no big deal."

"I beg to differ."

"Beg all you like. It won't make any difference."

That was the closest that anyone came to directly asking Ichigo or Rukia about their relationship. However, people did stare. Rukia wondered if they'd all somehow forgotten the breach of common etiquette associated with blatant staring, or if they thought she and Ichigo simply wouldn't notice.

Even so, they did exactly as they had discussed. They quickly fell back into their routine of hanging out with their own group of friends, and people rarely saw them together between classes. They weren't exactly avoiding each other, but neither had anything to say to the other that couldn't wait until they got home, resulting in little or no interaction during school hours. At first, it only made people more curious, but by the end of the week, the whispers had almost stopped completely, and the school was once again thriving with fresh, new gossip.

However, that didn't change the fact that Rukia and Ichigo had once been the centre of everyone's attention, and it was still a mystery to them who had been the source behind it.

* * *

Saturday morning, Rukia told Ichigo she'd be going out for the day. Subsequently, he asked where she was going.

"Momo's taking me to see her cousin," she explained.

"What for?"

The more she thought about the reason, the more she believed this would be nothing more than a bizarre waste of time. So, she simply said, "Her cousin's going to help us out with something… school-related," and left it at that.

"Okay…" Ichigo was obviously confused and sceptical at her vague response, but didn't question her any further as Momo's car pulled up against the kerb and she waved him goodbye.

The drive to Momo's cousin's house took longer than expected—two hours, forty-six minutes, to be exact—and by the end of it, Rukia was just about ready to turn the car around and drive back home herself. She wasn't all that keen on the idea of discussing her personal life with a stranger, anyway, but when she voiced her proposal to leave, she realised Momo wasn't about to let her back out now.

"We already came all this way!" the girl pointed out. "Wait 'til my parents find out how much gas I used up today… Anyway, we're already here, and it couldn't hurt, right?"

_Right…_

"So let's go," Momo concluded without an answer. She waited until they'd both gotten out of the car before locking up, and then they began heading up the driveway towards the front lawn. There was an old woman watering some plants out front, who turned to wave at Momo when she noticed the two girls approach.

"Momo. You've grown," she said. "Oh, how it's good to see you here again."

"Thanks. You, too. Oh, and this is my friend, Rukia," Momo introduced.

"I see. It's a pleasure to meet you, dear." The woman beamed at them both, and Rukia suddenly felt a little rude at intruding. "Well, you two go on ahead; make yourself at home. Toushiro's in his room, like always. Pull him away from that laptop of his and teach him there's more to life than studying, will you?"

"Sure thing," said Momo. She started walking towards the front door, expecting Rukia to follow. When she didn't, Momo looked back and asked, "Coming?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Let's go."

They navigated their way through the humble little home until Momo came across a door that had a piece of paper stuck to the centre with Blu-Tack. It read: _Do not disturb_. And beneath that, in untidier handwriting: _Genius at work_. Momo had added that bit in herself during one of her first visits to her beloved younger cousin's room. And so, she was smirking as she gripped the handle with her fingers and called, "Hey, Lil' Shiro! We're coming in!"

She swung open the door and, inside the room, there was a short white-haired boy sitting in front of a laptop by the far wall. She greeted him cheerfully with "Good morning, sunshine. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Really, now," the boy grumbled. He punched in a few more keys on the notebook before swivelling around in his chair to face his two guests. He folded his arms and sighed. "So, what do you want?"

"Well…" Momo clapped her hands together and brought them up to her chin, making the effort to pout out her lips like a child asking for candy. "I was wondering if you could help us do a little investigating. You see, we have this problem at school, and I thought you could help figure out who's behind it," she explained. "You like solving mysteries, don't you?"

The boy slowly raised a cautious brow. "I do… but what's in it for me?"

"Well… if you don't, then I'll tell all your friends about how you used to play with my Barbie dolls with me—when you were _ten years old_."

His eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare…" She challenged him back with a sly curve of her lips, but he wasn't about to give in so easily. "You're going to have to do much better than that," he said.

"Hmm…" Momo tapped her chin thoughtfully, rhythmically. "I guess I could… get you a date with that Karin girl across the street."

He instantly turned beet red. "Wh—what are you saying?! Why would I want that?!"

"Heh, you're blushing," she giggled.

"No, I'm not! Shut up! Look—just hand over twenty bucks and I'll do it, okay?"

"Eh? Twenty? Can't you cut me some slack, Lil' Shiro? I'm probably already going to have to pay that much for the gas I used to get here."

"Take it or leave it."

She pouted. "Meanie." Nevertheless, she began pulling her money out of her purse and handed him the sum. "You're going to go and spend it all on books and pencils and dictionaries, aren't you?" she mumbled. "That's so boring… and such a waste…" He pretended not to hear, and stashed the money away in a drawer for safekeeping.

"Thank you very much." He said it indifferently like a debt collector collecting his fee, and then gestured for the girls to take a seat on the bed as he spun around to face them once more. He folded his hands and rested his chin on the interlaced fingers, looking like a true businessman within a fourteen-year-old middle school student.

The deal had been struck. Now it was time to get down to business.

"Tell me," he said, "about this… problem."

Momo looked to Rukia, who didn't look all that eager on sharing, so she decided she would speak in place of her best friend. "Alright, so it started last Friday, when our school had this dance for the juniors…"

Toushiro took note in his head of everything Momo said. He was quite confident that he needn't write any of it down—he found his memory to be far more reliable than any flimsy notebook or document.

"So that's it," Momo concluded. "Do you think you could help us?"

"I could give it a shot." He spun himself around in his chair to dig for something in one of the drawers built into his desk, and said, "First, though, we should write this out."

And so, within a matter of moments, the three were sprawled out on the floor, a large sheet of plain white paper in the centre as they lay on their stomachs around it. Each had a black marker in hand, lids capped onto the backs, all ready to write.

"Okay, we need to give this project a name," Momo declared.

Toushiro wanted to slap himself on the forehead. "Do we _really_?" he grumbled.

"Yes, we do! It won't be official if it doesn't have a title!" she insisted.

He sighed. "You come up with something, then. And be quick about it so we can get onto the actual work."

"Okay, then." Momo tapped the back of the marker against her chin, contemplating her ideas. "How about… Project 'Solving the Mystery of Ichigo and Rukia's Kept Secret'?"

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "How creative."

"I could shorten it," she said in her defence. "So it can be Project… SMIRKS?"

"Huh…" Toushiro picked up his marker and wrote in big black letters across the top of the page: _Project SMIRKS_. "Okay, so we have a name," he said. He gave Momo a look as if to say, _Happy now?_ before announcing, "Now let's get to work."

"Yep," Momo gladly agreed.

Rukia was grateful for the girl's enthusiasm, but she couldn't help but ask, "So, how exactly do we plan to figure this out?"

"Simple. We gather the facts," Toushiro explained. "First, we need to compile a list of every person who would have a means, motive or opportunity to do this, and then we'll narrow it down from there."

"One problem, Lil' Shiro," Momo cut in. "We're not exactly trained policemen or detectives here."

The boy sighed. "We don't need to be; it's not that hard. Just let me handle the technicalities. Now, to start off, who would have the greatest motive to spread this information around the school?"

"Orihime," both girls answered at once.

"Okay…" He scribbled the name down onto the paper under the subheading, _Suspects_. "So, tell me about this Orihime."

"She's in Rukia's class."

"She has big boobs."

"Some people say they're fake."

"She's always smiling…"

And so on.

"…She failed home economics last year."

"She—"

"Okay, okay, that's enough." Toushiro finished adding the series of notes under Orihime's name, and leaned back to look over his work. "It got a bit irrelevant there," he noted to himself. "Let's move onto the next suspect. Who else would possibly have benefitted from these actions?"

Rukia and Momo looked to each other, contemplative. "Well," Momo mused, "there are those girls in our art class who aren't too fond of you. I heard one of them—Nell?—has a bit of a thing for Ichigo."

Rukia rolled her eyes. "Look—if we're going to list every girl who has 'a bit of a thing' for Ichigo, we could be here a while."

"And that's exactly what we're going to do," Toushiro interjected. He readied his marker and said, "So I suggest you start listing."

And indeed, they were there a while. The list did eventually end, but before Rukia could be too relieved about that, Toushiro was quick to move onto the next class of suspects: the ones with the means.

"Now, think," he said. "Who could have actually known that you two had gotten together?" He looked at Rukia scrutinisingly, who took a deep breath, thinking, before she gave her reply.

"I don't know." She sighed. "I mean, I didn't tell anyone, and I'm fairly sure Ichigo didn't, either."

"Okay, then. So perhaps the culprit didn't know for certain that you two had slept together"—it amazed her that he could state this as casually as he did—"and they'd just based it on suspicions. In which case, since you had barely had any contact before the Friday of the dance, we can be quite certain it was someone who saw you two together at some point that night."

"Aha! That must be it!" Momo breathed in triumph. She smiled at her little cousin. "Good work, Lil' Shiro."

"Don't celebrate just yet; the work's not over. Rukia, would you happen to know who saw you with Ichigo that night?"

Rukia shook her head sadly. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

Toushiro nodded. "Then, as I expected, we still have a lot of work ahead of us."

After a whole afternoon of vigorous brainstorming—mostly on Rukia's part—they had put together a rough idea of who could possibly be the culprit they were looking for. "So here we have our primary suspects," said Toushiro. He had typed up and printed off the list of names on his computer, and handed two copies each to Rukia and Momo—when they enquired as to why they needed two, he told them it was a common tendency among humans to lose and forget about things.

"Eh… it's long…" Momo all but whined.

"Quit complaining," he said. "We can't leave a single stone unturned. Anyway, we can be sure that everyone on this list will have a Facebook or Twitter or some networking link online, correct?"

"Well, I'd assume so… But why would that matter?"

"Believe me—you can find out a lot about a person from what they write on those pages."

"That's true… but some of the things on those profiles aren't true. I mean, everyone loves joking about things like their relationship status and all."

He smirked. "Exactly. That's where half the info will come from."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry. Just leave this to me."

"You're really working hard…" Rukia mused in a confounded sense of awe. She wondered, why was this kid putting in such an effort to help out someone he'd barely just met?

_Oh well,_ she decided; she had no right to complain.

"Now, onto how this will work." Toushiro pointed the tip of his marker at Rukia. "You. To start off, I only need you to do one thing, and it'll be regarding our prime suspect. I still need to finetune strategies for the others after doing a little further research, but for now, all you have to do is this…"

And thus, during homeroom on Monday morning: "Orihime," Rukia greeted, smiling, "good morning. You don't mind if I sit here today, do you?"

The aforementioned girl had a dumbfounded look on her face as she nodded, gesturing to the seat beside her. "Oh, no, go ahead…"

"Thanks." Rukia settled into the chair, and proceeded to busy herself with arranging her books and stationery onto her new desk.

"Is, um, anything the matter?"

Rukia could hear the confusion in Orihime's voice, but she knew the girl would be too polite and modest to outright question her sudden hospitality. "Nope," she said. "Everything's just fine."

Honestly, Rukia despised half the girls in school for being two-faced, lying, backstabbing bitches, and she hated to think of herself as stooping to their level. But this was for the sake of the plan, and she had agreed to play her part.

_"I have to… become friends with her? Why?"_

_"No, just _pretend_ to become friends with her. It's simple; you're trying to make her confess. And if she's really as kind-hearted as you say she is, it shouldn't take much for her to crack," Toushiro explained. "Take some time, become her friend, and she'll soon be feeling so overcome with guilt about what she did that she'll have to tell you."_

_"Oh. That makes sense."_

_"Yes. The key here is to back her into a corner psychologically. Make it seem like you care about her, that you'd never do anything to hurt her. If it gets far enough, her conscience will leave her with no choice but to tell the truth."_

_Rukia nodded. "Alright, then. But wait—what if she's not the culprit?"_

_"If she isn't, then think of it this way: you've just made a new ally."_

_"Ally?" Rukia looked to Momo questioningly, who merely shrugged in response._

_"Don't expect me to understand what goes on in that head of his."_

So Rukia played along with that supposed child genius' plan and hung on every word that Orihime spoke throughout the day. Most of it was complete nonsense—though she had to admit it was quite amusing nonsense—and it was hard to feign interest in something so whimsical for so long. By the time school was out, Rukia was so glad to be leaving that she didn't notice a certain someone standing behind her at her locker, not until she felt herself being pulled aside by a strong grip and came face-to-face with none other than…

"Ichigo," she almost gasped. "What? Did you miss me that much?"

He rolled his eyes, getting straight to the point. "What's this I hear about you making friends with Orihime?"

"What about it?" Rukia asked innocently. "I'm entitled to befriend whoever I want, aren't I?"

Ichigo raised a brow, about to interrogate her motives further, when another, much higher pitched voice called Rukia's name. They both turned to see Orihime heading towards them.

"Speak of the devil…"

"And the devil shall appear…" Rukia had to think fast—if Orihime saw her with Ichigo now, it could essentially ruin their plan. She quickly thought of something, but he wouldn't like it.

"Ichigo," she whispered into his ear. "I'll explain everything later. Just play along for now. Oh, and forgive me."

"Huh? What are you—ow!" Ichigo felt a sharp sting across his cheek, the immediate effects of her open-palm slap resounding through his head. "What was that—"

"You jerk!" she yelled. "How dare you! Never speak to me again!" She turned on her heel and stormed off with a "Hmph" towards Orihime, whom she then greeted in a pleasantly surprised tone, as if she hadn't known the girl had been there through the entire act. "Oh, Orihime. I'm sorry you had to see that."

Orihime shook her head. "No, no, don't apologise. But, um, if you don't mind me asking, what were you so mad at Ichigo about?"

"It's nothing you should worry about. He blames me for spreading that stupid rumour around the school. Can you believe that? I mean, whoever did it must be a real jerk, right?"

Orihime nodded, sympathetic. "That's true. Whoever did it must be a terrible person."

Rukia couldn't tell if she was being sincere or not, so she decided she would have to keep a close eye on this girl from now on.

* * *

"I'm sick of this. This acting thing is really tiring me out," Rukia complained to Momo, who offered a sympathetic ear. It had been a week since they'd first initiated the plan, and pretending to be somebody's friend day in and day out turned out to be much more of a mental strain than Rukia had expected. It's a good thing it was currently the last class of the day, and that class just happened to be art. Rukia didn't think she had the capacity to think about anything beyond brush strokes and colour tones right now.

"Please," she said, "offer me some intelligent conversation."

Momo chuckled, earning her a pointed glare from her best friend. "Oh, I'm sorry," she amended, stifling back her laughter. "Why don't we go somewhere after school, then, and take your mind off things?"

"Like where?"

"How about the café down by the station? It just opened a little while ago, but I hear it's good."

Rukia shrugged, easily swayed in her state of exhaustion. "Sure. Should we invite Renji, too?"

Momo bit her lip. "I… I think he's busy today."

Rukia immediately became suspicious. "Why? Do you know something?"

Momo's eyes flickered around the room before she leaned in and said, "Between you and me, I think he's started smoking—or maybe even doing drugs. I've been seeing him wander off with a group of seniors after school a lot lately. When I asked, he got mad and said it's none of my business."

"What? Renji, doing drugs? Are you sure?"

"Well, not entirely, but it seems like it."

Rukia's brows were furrowed, and her lips were slightly parted in appalled disbelief. "But… We have to talk to him about this, then."

"Don't," said Momo, softly. "I told you, I already tried, and it didn't help. If we order him around and tell him what to do, it'll only make it worse." She knew Rukia could see the truth in her words, and continued, "Let's just keep an eye on him for now. It's probably just a phase, for him to get it out of his system, so don't make a big deal out of it and it'll pass."

Rukia nodded. "I suppose you're right. Still, why would he do that? Why now?"

"Maybe… he's stopped trying to be good." Then, quieter: "Maybe he's stopped caring what you think of him."

"Huh?"

"You broke his heart."

"How?"

Momo sighed. "Think about it. He's been pining after you since the third grade. So you can imagine he'd be feeling pretty down on himself after hearing that this guy you've never spoken to before could win your heart in just one night. And it was the night he was finally going to ask you out, too," she added regretfully.

"What?" There it was: that wave of cold, harsh guilt.

"It's true. He was asking me for advice that whole week; I told him he should just come out and say it. I guess he thought he needed a little confidence boost on the night, and lost track of how much he'd had to drink."

"That fool…" Rukia muttered, eyes downcast.

"So would you… would you have said yes?" Momo was all too curious to not prod just a little.

"Maybe," Rukia answered, unsure of it herself. "But it's too late now, anyway. There's really no point."

The bell rang then, and they were quick to let the subject drop.

* * *

It was a little past five when Rukia arrived home that day and collapsed onto the living room couch. Hearing the signs of her entrance, Ichigo came down from his room, eyed her curiously, and asked, "Where have you been?"

"I told you I'd be late, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I'd still like to know where you were," he said. "Just in case—you know—something happens…"

"I was just at the café down by the station with Momo; nothing for you to worry about." She rolled onto her side, her eyes closing of their own accord. "Mm, I'm tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately," he noted. "Perhaps you should just give up on this 'plan.'" She could hear the air quotes in his words—when she'd first told him about the strategy Toushiro had come up with, he had snickered and scoffed and claimed she couldn't be serious, and his attitude hadn't changed since.

Rukia faintly shook her head. "I can't stop now, or what would have been the point behind doing all this in the first place? Oh, speaking of which, I'm going to go shopping with Orihime and a few other friends on Sunday. Who knows—it might be fun."

Her eyes refused to open and see that doubtful look on his face, but she's sure it was there. She has the vague impression that he made some other cynical comment after that, but she was too tired to listen, drifting off into another plane and time, where things didn't need a reason to make sense other than _because_.

She was in a field, covered in the dim shadows of late evening. It was unnaturally quiet, though something in her _knew_ the birds were in the trees, the crickets in the grass. She sat with her legs laid out before her and her hands keeping balance at her sides, and it felt like she was waiting for something but she didn't quite know what, so she was content with just waiting, just being.

Though it was sudden, she wasn't surprised when she felt a pair of long, strong arms wrap around her from behind and pull her back against a broad, solid chest. She knew who it was without having to look, and she breathed his name as her eyes closed and she leaned into him, letting his scent, his presence, envelop her pallid form. His embrace was so comforting, so familiar, that it made her feel so sure he would always be there to warm her nights.

She doesn't know how long later it was, but at some point, his hands idly crept down onto her stomach, where they brushed and traced and ran circles across her supple flesh. It was blissful, and she didn't want him to stop. Then, before she knew it, his hands were roaming her chest, though even then, there was nothing awkward or unnerving about it, not when his fingers began to massage her breasts, nor when they brushed lightly across the tips. It was endearing—that was all—and she felt completely safe and at ease, with herself, with her body, and with him.

Somewhere along the line, he began to hum in her ear—a tune she couldn't quite discern, enchanting and mystical as it was—as his fingers played with the hem of her silk white skirt. She tried to hum along with him, but she didn't know the tune, so she inevitably found herself messing it up. Shortly after, humming became an impossible task altogether as she felt his fingers reach beneath her skirt, rubbing along her inner thighs until they reached the cleft between her legs.

His hands were like flame to kindling, like the warm emission of heat from a fireplace on a cold winter's night, and she could feel the soothing yet defined burn pool in her stomach. She became drowned in ecstasy, trusting him to anchor her back when the time came, and he did; he held her tight against him once more, as if trying to protect her from some unseen force even he was uncertain of, and trailed a path of feather-light kisses along her shoulder and up her neck.

She felt him whisper something against her skin, but couldn't quite make it out. As his lips travelled closer and closer to her ear, it was as if the volume was being turned up on a radio; she could hear the birds' song in the trees and the crickets' chorus in the grass, and soon she could almost, _almost_ hear him, but, in that next instant, she felt herself drifting and being pulled from him, and she came resurfacing from what she hadn't been aware of as a dream.

As soon as she opened her eyes and realised none of that had been real, she closed them again and prayed to go back. But, no matter how hard she tried, sleep continued to evade her, and eventually, she was forced to get up.

"Hey, Rukia!"

She jolted, surprised by the booming voice calling to her from the adjoining kitchen.

"Dinner's ready! Are you up yet?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," she called back hoarsely, and quickly scrambled up to get washed up for the evening meal.

Arriving in the kitchen and seeing Ichigo there in front of the stove, Rukia felt her cheeks heat up in remembrance of her most recent dream. Everything in it had been so clear, so real, that she could still almost feel his touch on her skin and his breath against her neck. That's why it was so awkward to look at him now, the lines between fantasy and reality quickly blurring together.

Ichigo noticed her reluctant gaze and asked, "Something wrong?"

She quickly and stubbornly shook her head, taking a seat at the dining table without another glance his way. They ate, drank, and talked about their day—and all the while, Rukia avoided looking directly at him, choosing to turn her attention to the television playing in the background instead, even though all that was on was sports, and he knew that she hated to watch sports.

And so, the rest of the night passed in a slow, uneventful blur, as did the day after, and before she knew it, it was Sunday noon and she was sitting in a bakery with Orihime Inoue. The others had already dispersed to the food court to find themselves a more nutritionally balanced lunch, but Rukia had chosen to stay with Orihime—that was the reason she was here, after all.

In the midst of casual conversation and forced small talk, Rukia decided to take the opportunity to ask something she was very interested in hearing the answer to. "Orihime," she began, "what exactly do you see in Ichigo Kurosaki?"

Orihime stopped chewing for a fraction of a second, and then began again just as quickly, unnoticeably. Instead of answering, however, she said, "You know, this is only the second time I've eaten at this bakery, though I've been coming here for years."

Rukia wondered if she was actually going anywhere with this, or if she was just trying to avoid the subject.

"One day, in grade school, my friend brought this really funny-looking cake for lunch. It looked really tasty, but I didn't feel right taking any of hers, so I asked her where she got it from and she told about this bakery. She told me about a few of the other cakes here, too, but all I could think about at the time was that cake that she'd been eating, which was decorated with all these bright colours and one simple strawberry in the middle. I fell in love with it without ever trying it, and became a little obsessed at the idea of having one.

"I came down to this bakery the next week to buy one, but they were all sold out. So, I came back, week after week, but there would always be none left; someone would always get to it before me. It was like it was trying to avoid me," she joked. "To this day, I've still never had one, and now I've kinda given up.

"Last week, I came down here and ordered something else: a lemon Madeira cake." She smiled. "I didn't think it would be, but it was delicious. It may not be as popular as that other cake, but I imagine it's just as sweet. Before now, I never even considered looking at anything else on the menu, because I thought I knew what I wanted, and I had my heart set on just that.

"Thinking about it now, I realise that was a bit silly of me, never trying anything else, holding onto the dream of something I'd never known. I mean, I might not have even _liked_ it. So, maybe it's better I keep the idea of it the way it is, and I can always think of it as a nice dream I had growing up, instead of thinking of it as a waste of my time, imagining, dreaming, just to be disappointed after all these years."

Rukia stared in awe. She never would've expected to hear Orihime say anything so profound.

"Oh, what was my point again?" Orihime laughed to herself. "Ah, I guess I forgot." She stood up and shook out her long auburn hair. "Let's get back to Tatsuki and the others, okay? They're probably waiting for us."

Rukia nodded and followed her out, knowing she knew full well what her point had been, and that she'd made it perfectly well.

* * *

"You seem happy," Ichigo commented after Rukia arrived home. "You had fun, I suppose?"

"Fun…?" she mused. "I wouldn't exactly say that…"

"Okay… Then, you're glad you went?"

She thought on that for a second. "Yeah," she realised, "I am. I think I got something pretty worthwhile out of it."

* * *

Later that night, a little past one a.m., Rukia found herself awake and quietly stepping out from the closet. She'd been tossing and turning all night, an unexplained nausea churning in her stomach, and she'd finally decided to try and soothe herself with a nice cup of milk.

She headed slowly and carefully down the stairs, one silent footstep after another, until she was in the kitchen. She didn't want to risk flicking on the lights, so she placed a hand on the left wall and used that to navigate her way blindly to the fridge.

Just as the appliance was within reach, she heard the front door unlock with a click and creak open. She silently froze and stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement on her part would draw attention to herself, even in the darkness. She heard the door close, and footsteps stroll through the lounge and down the hall towards the stairs. They were just about to pass the open doorway of the kitchen, so she discreetly shuffled her feet backwards into the corner and hoped she wouldn't be seen.

The footsteps came closer, closer, closer… and passed. Rukia held herself back from sighing in relief. After what must have been at least five minutes, she figured it would be safe enough to try and sneak back into Ichigo's room without being noticed.

She was sorely mistaken.

Just as she stepped barefoot out from the kitchen, she heard an "Ahem" from her side and immediately turned to the shadowed figure of a man, almost gasping in surprise. After the initial shock of panic, she realised this must be Ichigo's dad, and allowed herself to be both relieved and heavily embarrassed at the same time.

When the man spoke, it was low and calm. "Who are you? What do you want with my family?" It was only natural that he would suspect her of breaking and entering.

Rukia quickly gestured defensively with her arms and shook her head frantically at the accusation. "I'm not here to steal anything," she told him.

It was hard to see in the darkness, but she thought she saw a pair of thin eyes narrow. "Then, who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I… I came to see Ichigo," she claimed, because in the grand scheme of things, it was true.

Suddenly, the man's features relaxed, and he was laughing. "Oh, I see, I see," he chortled. "That son of mine didn't mention anything about a girlfriend, but he doesn't tell me about a lot of things these days."

"Oh, no, that's not it…" Rukia was blushing as she tried to correct the conclusion he had so hastily jumped to. "I'm not…"

"Oh, don't be shy." He came face to face with her, resting his hands on her shoulders and nodding down at her in approval. "Take care of my son. He can be quite a handful, but he's a good boy."

Before she could get a word in, he had his arms around her in a bone-crushing bear hug. "Welcome to the family! Uh… what did you say your name was?"

And that was the first time she began to feel a sense of belonging, like she was wanted, like a real family. So, she opened her mouth to try correcting him again, but ended up muttering, "Rukia. Call me Rukia."

When she stepped back into Ichigo's room shortly after, he was sitting up in bed, rubbing groggily at his eyes. "What's going on?" he croaked. "What's with the noise?"

Rukia silently closed the door, then made her way to the closet. She answered, "I had a little talk with your dad, and he's fine with me staying however long I like."

"Oh, that's good." She assumed he was still too much asleep to wonder _why_ his father would allow such a thing. "Just one question, though," he said, and she was all ears. "How long _are_ you planning to stay?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I'd like to think Byakuya would've gotten over my 'acting out' by now, but you can never be too sure with him, so I might just give it a few more days."

"So, then wouldn't you moving here just make him madder at you? How did you think this would help?"

Her response was two words: "Emotional blackmail."

Of course, he asked for elaboration.

"You'll see," she said, "when the timing's right."

* * *

Rukia and Ichigo arrived at school that Monday morning, expecting to endure just another ordinary day. They definitely weren't expecting to see a hoard of female students crowding around something in the courtyard.

They went in closer for a better look, only to discover the girls weren't crowding around some_thing_, but rather some_one_. Rukia's eyes went wide at the boy who was talking on his cell phone, completely ignoring the dozens of girls curiously looking him over.

"Yes, Momo, I'm already here. Where are you? … That late? Don't tell me you wet the bed again. … Alright, don't shout. … Fine, just get here as soon as you can. … Yeah, see you then."

As Toushiro hung up and put his phone away, he automatically scanned his surroundings and spotted Rukia at the back of the crowd. A look of recognition crossed his face, and he made his way through the wall of girls as if they were nothing more than bothersome tree branches obscuring his path.

"So we meet again," he said, once he reached Rukia. He looked beside her, and his eyes began to cross-examine her companion. "And I suppose this would be the cause of all our trouble?"

Ichigo cocked a brow at the boy. "Who's this kid?"

"This," Rukia answered, "is Momo's cousin, Toushiro Hitsugaya."

"Uh-huh… So _he's_ the child prodigy?"

"The very one."

"Right…" At the end of his scrutiny, Ichigo asked the boy, "What are you doing here, kid? The elementary school's down the road. Better hurry or you'll be late."

Toushiro gave a deliberate cough, keeping his annoyance under control. "I am not in elementary school," he emphasised through clenched teeth. "In fact, I am transferring here today, into your class."

Now, Ichigo wasn't the only one staring at him sceptically. "You're _what_?" said Rukia. "But, you're only in middle school, aren't you?"

"Yes," he replied, "I was. At first, I decided to come here to get a better grasp of your situation and our suspects, but then I realised this could be a good opportunity for me. You see, I already know everything the teachers at my old school can teach me. Now, I want to see if this place can do a better job of teaching me something new," he explained, smirking. "And, apart from that…" He looked around at the girls behind him. "I've realised there are some interesting people at this school, and I'd like the chance to do some research, personally."

_So, not only did he come to study the curriculum,_ thought Ichigo,_ but he also came to study the students? What's with this kid?_

Rukia and Ichigo looked between themselves, both thinking the same thing, both hoping they wouldn't have to get involved with this boy's 'studies.' After all, their lives were already complicated enough as they were.

* * *

**A/N: I would promise to update sooner this time, but I don't like making promises I might not be able to keep. So, until next time, thanks for putting up with me and my erratic ways.**


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